


I Will Find You Again

by Goudeneeuw



Category: Prince of Persia - All Media Types, Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time (2010)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Historical, Post-Movie, Romance, bit of adventure, romantic sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2020-09-19 08:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20327788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goudeneeuw/pseuds/Goudeneeuw
Summary: “Will I see you this evening?” he asked, dismayed by the pathetically hopeful tone in his voice.“I have quite a lot to do. Accommodating your presence in the city and in my home.” Tamina’s eyes grew hard. “Assessing the damage.” She turned away dismissively. “Perhaps in a day or two.”Dastan clenched his fists in sudden anger.She's going to keep me at arm’s length. Ignore me.Damned if I'll let her.A new beginning, a second chance. Dastan knows what he wants but how can he break through Tamina's protective walls? To convince her to set aside the mask she wears like armour. To let him into her heart again.A love story that explores the aftermath and emotional consequences of Dastan's journey with the Dagger of Time. A shared past that Tamina no longer remembers.





	1. Second Chance

Tamina stood with her back to her council, listening to them debate their concerns about her marriage to Prince Dastan, to the Persian Empire. They’d already discussed the risks at length - giving Persia the excuse to impose a protectorate, making Alamut a puppet state. Or this young princeling assuming he could wrest power from her to claim a kingdom of his own. An insignificant realm, but a wealthy one. There’d been other high-born men who had tried it. They finally agreed that a strongly worded marriage contract and a separate treaty should be enough to safeguard Alamut in law. 

“Highness.” Ikram, the head of the council, brought her attention back to the meeting. “They await your answer. Persia is being apologetic at the moment, but after they leave, we become only one of many tiny allied states vying for their attention. Friendship and treaty alone will not bind Persia to us.”

“But marriage will,” she said grimly. “Marriage to a prince who was not born, but made noble.” And she wondered, A_ man touched by destiny? _

One of the others added, “We have spoken to some of the Persians. Even though he is not related by blood and holds no place in the line of succession, Prince Dastan is seen to be a true son of King Sharaman and has a strong fraternal bond with his brothers. Also, he has no other wives. As first wife, Princess Tamina will have some control over who he, or his king, chooses after her.”

She rubbed absently at the headache forming at her temple. When the meeting began several hours ago, Tamina believed she still had the freedom to accept Prince Dastan’s proposal... or not. But as the debate dragged on, one stark fact rose above all else: Alamut’s impenetrable wall had been breached for the first time in a thousand years. The city was now fair game to any other king, despot, or warlord who was greedy for their fabled riches. They needed this alliance with the strongest power in the region. 

She thought of her bewildering conversation with Dastan that morning after he’d so nervously presented the dagger to her with such unexpected modesty, eyes sincere and astonishingly blue. When he had charmed, provoked, and yes, mocked her, in the span of a few minutes. How his words seemed to convey a deeper meaning. 

And the moment he offered his hand in symbolic proposal, the way he looked at her. He _saw _ her. She was afraid to even acknowledge the promise in his eyes, to name the tender emotion on his face. Because it couldn’t be... _ how could it be? _

Tamina sighed. She must wed eventually to fulfill her duty to the yet unbroken line of succession. She should be pleased such a suitable and, dare she admit, attractive man practically fell into her lap. 

But she felt deeply uneasy, sensing that Prince Dastan was a danger to her carefully maintained equanimity. She cringed at the way she’d softened under his warm gaze. How his attention enticed her, made her reckless enough to accept him so thoughtlessly. 

Tamina knew what she must do even though she stood there trying to think of a way out. She wasn’t ready to capitulate.

She finally turned back to the men waiting for her to speak.

“Before we make an official commitment, I need to know why they attacked us and what happened between the princes and their uncle. Find out what you can, we meet again tomorrow.”

As Tamina left the room, a guilty but comforting thought struck her: _Perhaps when King Sharaman is confronted with Alamut’s requirements in a Prince Consort he will reject me like all the others._ Allowing her life to continue as it was. 

\---

Dastan lurked in a dark corner of the hall waiting for her. The last few hours had given him time to think, but he was more unsure and conflicted than ever. He’d been falling from one crisis into another for what seemed like forever. Unable to take a breath before having to confront his uncle and then, unbelievably, finding himself betrothed to Tamina _(thank the Gods and my brothers). _

He'd walked with her in the garden in a daze, daunted by her severe composure and dazzled by her beauty, unblemished by sun, wind, and biting sand. Painted and perfumed, perfect and untouchable. 

_Tell her or keep silent. _

He didn’t know what to do. His mind churned with possibility and risk, trying to decide on the best way to approach her, to win her heart again. He was back at the beginning in more ways than one._ She doesn't trust me. If I tell her will she even believe me? _ Confessing his knowledge of Alamut’s secrets, would she accept him as an ally again or see him as her enemy? 

Dastan straightened when she left the council chambers, walking quickly. He caught a flash of the dagger still clutched in her hand as he trailed after her, down unremarkable corridors and up narrow stairs, moving upward through the palace until he found himself at the door of the High Temple.

He hesitated, watching Tamina return the dagger to its golden cage and kneeling in prayer at its feet. Incense drifted thick in the air, smoke curling through the late afternoon sun streaming in from the arched windows. She turned toward him, her expression calm and relaxed but darkening the instant she saw him.

“How did you get up here?” she spat, scowling at him. "You Persians are not welcome in our holy sanctuary!"

He couldn’t help flinching and looked away. When she’d smiled so softly at him in the garden a few short hours ago, Dastan hoped she might be more open, to give him a chance. But her lovely brown eyes were cold and wary. He threw her a sideways glance, considering his answer. He hated that he must weigh everything he said to her. 

“I followed you to talk… I don’t know, get to know each other better, I suppose.” His gaze fell on the dagger and he unconsciously grimaced.

Tamina noticed of course and arched one of her delicate brows. The haughty disdain that drove him mad in the beginning. Until the day it became endearing instead. 

The warm light made the temple shimmer with a golden glow and Tamina herself was so radiant, it almost hurt to look at her. He felt an unbearable urge to drag her to him, to hold her so tightly it would banish the agonizing memory of her slipping from his grasp into the abyss. It had just happened and despair still filled his heart. Sick with a confusion of grief, love, and desperate relief, he didn’t know how he would manage to act naturally around her. Around any of them.

“You wished to speak with me?” she asked with a sharp edge of impatience.

Dastan nodded. Mastering his churning emotions, he focused on the last lingering worry that troubled his mind. The Hassansins. _ She needs to be protected. _

Even without Nizam, they were a threat. One of them betrayed Alamut and might do so again. He would have to find some way to bring their existence to his brothers’ attention. It would take all the resources at Persia’s disposal to track them down. 

He began to accept that remaining silent about the lost time was unwise and possibly dangerous. But still, he hesitated. He knew she wouldn’t take it well. 

“I… ah… wondered if I would be permitted to use a chamber near yours until… um…” his voice trailed off weakly.

“Until we wed,” she concluded flatly, expression unreadable. “Why? I know your brothers remain with your army.” Her pointed question jerked him out of his muddled thoughts.

Dastan didn’t have a legitimate reason other than wanting to be close by to watch over her, so blurted out, “Persian tradition.”

“I see,” she said suspiciously. 

For a brief moment, she considered offering the apartments next to hers, the rooms reserved for her future consort, but instantly decided against it. In her heart, they belonged to her father. Letting Dastan use them felt irrevocable and much too intimate.

“I’ll have a guest suite made available to you. If that’s all, the priesthood will be joining me shortly for our nightly ceremony.” 

“Will I see you this evening?” he asked, dismayed by the pathetically hopeful tone in his voice.

“I have quite a lot to do. Accommodating your presence in the city and in my home.” Tamina’s eyes grew hard. “Assessing the damage.” She turned away dismissively. “Perhaps in a day or two.” 

Dastan clenched a fist in sudden anger. _She's going to keep me at arm’s length. Ignore me._ _Damned if I'll let her. _

He stepped closer, close enough to touch her. She lifted her chin in defiance but at the last moment backed away, out of reach. He strode toward her, both aware that she would soon come up against the wall. He could see her considering the alternatives - duck around him and run or stand her ground. Tamina’s eyes narrowed in indignation and she stopped. Just as he knew she would.

Dastan took a last step, taking her chin in his hand, gentle but insistent. His thumb swept over her cheek in a fleeting caress and she inhaled with a soft hiss of breath. Either fury or unwilling attraction, he couldn’t tell.

“Avoiding me is not an option Tamina,” he warned softly.

She scowled. Dastan smirked.

_Arrogant ass. Even his impertinence is charming, _ she fumed inwardly. Her skin burned at his touch, causing her stomach to squirm. She was beginning to recognize the unsettling sensation, that it was because of him. _ Why does he have to be so utterly... masculine? _

“Very well, _ Prince _Dastan. My days are claimed by my duties but we may dine together now and then.”

Dastan briefly gritted his teeth at the way she was forcing him to negotiate for her time and attention. But he wasn’t surprised.

“Every evening meal, _ Princess_. And I reserve the right to bother you when I feel like it.” His words were demanding but he sounded amused.

Tamina jerked away from his grasp. “Fine,” she muttered sullenly. “Will you go now?”

“Until tonight.” Dastan gave her an exaggerated bow and left.

_ At least when I provoke her, she can't be indifferent. _


	2. Building Trust

Dastan made his way back to their camp, finding his brothers in the royal tent. Tus was slumped in a chair, his fingers moving restlessly over the worry beads in his hand. Garsiv stood nearby, looking uneasy. He saw Dastan first and surreptitiously motioned him back outside.

“What’s wrong?” 

“We just received word that Father will join us tomorrow. His message cautioned us to be careful with Alamut, asking us to maintain a siege but not attack until he arrives. You know how Tus is, he’s all right when work needs to be done but it’s all falling over him now that Father will be here soon. Uncle’s betrayal. Having to kill him. Plus the usual self-doubt and recrimination.”

Dastan grimaced, wishing he could’ve spared Tus from having to make such an impossible choice. He eyed Garsiv warily, wondering if he blamed him. 

“And you?”

“I respected Uncle, but I never…” Garsiv sighed. “He was always hiding something, his very nature scheming and manipulative. For the good of the Empire, I knew. Or thought I knew,” he said darkly, then shrugged. “But Tus trusted him unconditionally, depended on him. Especially when Father withdrew from us for so long after Mother’s death.” 

With a crooked smile, Dastan murmured “And you don’t trust anyone.”

Garsiv gave him a sarcastic grin which softened into a real one. “Oh, I trust Father and Tus,” he said airily. “And you,” he conceded with an exaggerated show of reluctance. 

Dastan felt again that overwhelming flood of affection and relief wash over him, remembering the last moments with his proud, irascible brother. Loyal, courageous, and true to the end. 

“Even Jasmina and Roshana,” he continued. Dastan’s eyes widened in surprise. Garsiv’s relationship with his wives was rather incomprehensible. He didn’t think Garsiv loved either of them. But for a royal prince, trust was more important than love. 

Dastan got lost in his own thoughts again. He loved Tamina but he couldn’t trust her now. _ His _ Tamina was gone, ripped from his grasp by time itself. He sighed, angry with himself for succumbing to useless, unnecessary regret. _She fell in love with me before, trusted me with her very being. With the fate of the world. And I am the same man as before, _ he told himself firmly_. _

“... maybe if you talk to him.” Garsiv lightly swatted his arm, bringing him back with a start. Dastan quickly nodded, cursing his wayward thoughts and erratic emotions.

When they re-entered the tent, Tus said peevishly, “I could hear you, you know.” 

“No need to dance around it then,” Garsiv quipped.

Tus looked up at them, grim-faced but calm. He seemed to recognize Dastan’s foul mood and put the worry beads aside, becoming their protective big brother again.

“When I saw him attack you Dastan, I did what I had to. But I dread telling Father.” Tus swallowed thickly. “What if he can’t forgive me?” he whispered. 

Dastan clasped his hand. “This is all my fault. If I could’ve stopped Uncle any other way … I didn’t expect him to try to kill me. I thought we’d have time to investigate his plot, gather proof of his treachery to convince Father.”

“Be at ease,” Garsiv said. “I’ve been dealing with Uncle’s men - staff, company officers, and his guard. I have enough to hang him.” Tus winced at his blunt declaration and Garsiv patted his shoulder in apology. “There are even rumors of a den of Hassansins he kept for his personal use after Father ordered them to be disbanded.”

Dastan drew in a sharp breath. “Hassansins are too dangerous to be let loose. We need to find them,” he said urgently and thankfully his brothers nodded in agreement. _Finally a bit of luck._

Confronted again with the depth of Nizam’s treachery, Tus rubbed his face in glum resignation. “What did he want with Alamut Dastan? You know...somehow.”

“Yes,” Dastan admitted slowly. “Alamut is a holy city for a reason. They keep dangerous secrets.” He bowed his head, unable to look them in the eye. “I can’t tell you more. I’m sorry.”

Dastan’s brothers stared at him in shocked silence. He was troubled, they both saw it, and Garsiv began to protest. They never kept things from one another. Tus saw the impatience on Garsiv's face, the reproach he was about to utter, and shook his head. 

Garsiv shrugged, Tus had always understood Dastan better than he did. “Very well, brother. We won’t press you.”

Dastan was grateful they’d let it be, at least for now. He anticipated some difficult questions from his father, however. He suddenly remembered what brought him down here in the first place.

“Tus, I’d like your leave to stay in the palace.”

He nodded thoughtfully, “Alright. Having you there will simplify our dealings with them. Tomorrow, find out who we need to consult to begin repairing the damage we caused.” Tus sighed heavily. “What an awful day it’s been! I need a drink and an early night, tomorrow's headaches will come soon enough.”

\---

She wasn't late on purpose, not really. The evening prayers of the Guardians had degenerated into a heated discussion of the catastrophic events of the day and the uncertainty they now faced. There were too many unanswered questions. She was so weary of talking.

Tamina paused as she entered Dastan’s chambers. She could see him through the open door into the sitting room, the evening meal they would share laid out before him, untouched. He hadn’t noticed her yet, so she took the opportunity to study him. Messy hair and scruffy stubble. Rough and unkempt_. _ And unfairly alluring.

She thought of Captain Asoka relaying how Prince Dastan won the dagger from him. And then the painful account of how the Persians managed to capture the city so quickly, so easily. The Captain assured the Guardian council his men at the Eastern gates defended them to the best of their ability. Dastan alone, the newly proclaimed 'Lion of Persia', brought about Alamut's downfall. Tamina went cold with shock when Asoka told them how he’d done it. _ What kind of foolhardy, absurdly heroic daredevil is he? _

But the man before her didn’t look like a conquering hero. She took in his stooped shoulders and bowed head propped in a hand, staring blankly at the floor. He seemed broken somehow. Tamina felt a slight trace of sympathy well up and went to him, feeling hesitant to cut him with her sharp tongue tonight.

Dastan glanced up at her approach. “Princess,” he said, standing to receive her, face impassive as he waited for her to set the tone of this encounter. 

"I apologize for joining you so late." She offered a conciliatory smile. "They wouldn't stop arguing."

"Arguing?"

She shrugged, unwilling to elaborate. "If you don’t mind, could we just … eat?" 

Dastan gave her a crooked smile, relieved she was too fatigued to fight with him, and handed over a full goblet of wine. Tamina eyed it, debating whether to allow herself to lower her guard. But she took it nonetheless and they silently picked at the dishes that were still edible. 

He told her amusing stories about his brothers, his father, his friends and comrades, his life in Nasaf. Telling her about himself. Light and casual but still informative. Dastan was smugly gratified when he finally made her laugh out loud, enticing him with the rich smokey lilt that danced over his skin. Her husky voice had always affected his equilibrium, even when he actively hated her.

After they finished, Dastan sighed, growing somber again. He didn’t want to break the unexpected harmony between them but had to warn her about his father’s impending arrival. 

"We received word that the king will come tomorrow." Tamina grimaced and threw back her wine, making him grin briefly. "You needn't prepare anything. No official reception or banquets. He comes as a father and a brother in mourning, not a king."

Listening to him, soothed by his easy smile and playful manner, Tamina was surprised how relaxed she felt. But news of the Persian king, arriving much sooner than she expected, brought her back to the reality of her situation. She still had pressing questions. She regarded him in sullen silence for a long moment, wondering if he would actually answer them. 

"Why do you want me?" she asked, her direct gaze stark and unyielding.

"What?" he choked.

"Why do you wish to marry me? Our union is in no way advantageous to Persia that I can see. Nor to you personally. You cannot usurp my rule. Alamut will never be yours."

"I know Princess," he said simply.

"So I ask again. Why?" 

Dastan stared at her in disbelief. “Any man would be honored to be your husband. You’re a beautiful, accomplished woman,” he said, biting back all the rest he could add. Courageous, devoted, ingenious, relentless, unflinching, pure. Magnificent.

“So I’ve been told,” she sneered. “By fine, noble men who were kind enough to offer me a quick tumble. Marriage is a different matter.” 

_ Ah love, _ he thought sadly, _ am I the first to see who you really are? _

Tamina’s breath caught when Dastan looked at her once again with that inexplicable tenderness and took her hand. “Be assured, my wish to marry has little to do with Alamut and everything to do with you."

He considered the slight frown between her brows. "But I can tell you're not convinced I speak the truth,” he said ruefully. “We'll discuss my reasons another time. We need a moment to catch our breath, don’t we?” 

Tamina wrinkled her nose in annoyance, making him want to kiss it. 

“I shall go then.” She rose, pulling her hand away. 

At the door she turned, eyes searching his. “Thank you for returning the dagger, I am more grateful for that than I can say.” After a pause, she admitted, “In all fairness, it is past time for me to wed. I only wish the circumstances were less…”

“Less bloody,” Dastan muttered darkly. “Sleep well, Princess,” managing a weak smile. 

\--- 

_ Pain throbbing through her arm, her hand clenched in his slick with sweat, slipping from his grip. She would fall and accept her fate, knowing what was at stake. Letting go to free the man holding her, allowing him to act. Her confidence in him was absolute. She felt the heavy burden she’d lived with all her life, the crushing responsibility, lifting. A welcome release. _

_ Her only regret was leaving him. _

_A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye as she looked up at the man she loved, a black silhouette against the brilliant turmoil of the Sandglass towering above them. _

_ Her voice broke on a sob. “I wish we could have been together.” _

Tamina woke with a cry, his name caught in her throat. Lost to the waking world before her conscious mind could grasp it.


	3. Allegiance

"Highness." Lady Ravan, her Second and successor, spoke softly before her as Tamina sat at her father’s writing desk in the library, a place which always soothed her.

Tamina opened her eyes, still fatigued after her night's rest was broken by the disturbing nightmare. The dream had all the hallmarks of a true vision so she'd been attempting a ritual trance, a plea to the Gods for guidance, but received no reply. As usual. She was disappointed but not surprised by their indifference. At least the act of meditation helped restore her equanimity. 

Ikram and Asoka flanked Ravan, her inner circle waiting patiently as always. Tamina gave a short nod, ready for the day's trials to begin.

Asoka spoke first. "I can report with certainty that 23 men of the guard were killed, but thankfully no citizens. 56 are injured. Two died during the night but the healers are confident we won’t lose any others." He handed her a scroll with all of their names, both the wounded and the dead.

"Their funeral ceremony should be held tomorrow if we can manage it. The families want a shared burial," Ravan added quietly. 

Tamina scanned the list, looking for names she recognized. She wondered if her adjutants were close to any of the dead, but didn’t feel it was her place to ask. The distance she maintained with her people was born of necessity when she was a young monarch desperate to prove her maturity. Now, even though wishing it was different, she didn’t know how to reach out to them as a friend instead of their ruler. 

Asoka continued, "As for material losses, seven buildings were damaged. And the Eastern gates of course."

Ikram chimed in, “36 people needed shelter last night, but it was easily arranged. However, temporary accommodation isn’t ideal. I fear we must choose what to repair first, their homes or the fortifications.” 

They heard a soft cough and turned to see Dastan by the door, obviously listening to their conversation. Tamina opened her mouth to deliver a sharp rebuke but he spoke quickly to forestall the tirade. 

“Highness, pardon my intrusion, I was sent by Prince Tus to ask what Alamut requires from us in terms of assistance. Restitution, of course, but we also offer labor and expertise if you’ll allow it.” Tamina raised a skeptical brow but Dastan plowed on. “For instance, minor changes to the gates would prevent them from being taken the way we did it.” Dastan looked at Asoka. “More men on the wall would be a good idea too.”

Before Asoka could respond Tamina snapped, “That's all well and good but the modest force of men who watch over us has been _ decimated _ thanks to you!” 

Dastan winced but he met her righteous anger without evasion. “I am truly sorry Princess. Perhaps my own company could take up their positions?”

“Thank you," she said sarcastically, "but no. I don't want Persians manning our walls.” She tapped her fingers on the table, striving to control her resentment and consider his suggestion with a cool head. 

“We have quite a few soldiers on duty outside the wall, patrolling the roads and trading routes into Alamut.” She glanced at Asoka who gave her a slight nod. “Those men can relieve the fallen, if you take over outside the city. But under our command. Will you agree to that?”

Her tone indicated she doubted he would. “Of course, Your Highness. My company will inevitably be integrated into Alamut’s guard after we wed. Those that choose to join me here, that is.”

“You expect them to stay with you?” Tamina asked cautiously, not sure if her people would welcome hundreds of Persian soldiers joining their ranks. “Are they Persia’s or are they yours?”

Dastan shrugged noncommittally, turning away to hide the shadow of regret that crossed his face. Until that moment, he hadn’t let himself dwell on what he’d leave behind. His men were like him for the most part - orphans, gutter rats, and rogues. Misfits and outcasts. The friends he’d managed to take with him when the Persian king inexplicably decided to adopt him. Some had no reason to stay in Nasaf but many did. Dastan expected to see his family fairly often but his friends were bound to the army. He’d definitely be saying a lot of goodbyes. 

“A question for another day Princess,” he said, forcing an easy smile and couldn’t help adding, “time will tell.”

When her eyes narrowed in suspicion, he returned her glare with a look of blithe innocence, his good humor returning. 

Ikram cleared his throat making Tamina start, frowning with chagrin as she felt herself flush with embarrassment. She’d forgotten the others were there. Dastan’s expressive brows lifted in teasing amusement. 

“As for restoring the damage,” she ground out between clenched teeth, “the sooner the better. I'll accept labor as partial compensation. Speaker Ikram, will you oversee the work? Begin with the homes and shops. The gates should wait until the improvements Prince Dastan mentioned are carefully considered. Agreed?” 

“Yes, Princess,” Ikram replied. “A wise course of action.” He turned to Dastan. “Highness, shall we convene a meeting by the inner gate in one hour’s time?”

At Dastan’s nod, the others bowed and left them alone. Tamina watched him warily as he sat down next to her, alarmed that she’d found it so difficult to focus on anyone else after he’d entered the room. _ Damn his beautiful eyes. _

She crossed her arms defensively and asked with all the serene dignity she could muster, “You have something more on your mind?"

“Will I be permitted to attend the burial?” 

Which was not at all what she expected. “I don't think it’s appropriate. You_ are _ responsible for their deaths after all,” she replied stiffly. “At least indirectly.” 

“Yes,” he acknowledged. “But if I am to become Prince Consort of Alamut, I feel I should show my regret openly. To honor the fallen. And to respect the Gods.” 

Tamina was disconcerted. “I thought you'd want nothing to do with our pagan practices.”

Dastan hesitated. He tended to avoid theological matters. If he had a philosophy, it was to live his life honorably and be judged by the true Maker when it was all over. But The Gods of the Sands of Time would govern, influence, or plague his life from now on. He was forced to believe in the ancient Gods but feared and resented them in equal measure. _ How could I not after what we've been through. _

“My father taught us to respect the beliefs of others,” he said, reluctantly giving her another half-truth that felt like a lie. 

Tamina tilted her head and considered him with that unwavering gaze of hers. He could see her reevaluating him, hopefully to his credit this time. 

“I'll think about it,” she finally said, annoyed with herself for continually underestimating him, giving him the upper hand. And his soft, crooked smile told her that he knew it. 

\---

Sheltered from the heat of the midday sun by an ancient cedar tree, Tamina and the princes waited for King Sharaman’s arrival near the palace steps. A palatable air of anxious tension surrounded the three men. Tus fingered his worry beads, Garsiv stared off into the distance, scowling, and Dastan couldn’t stand still. 

He needed a distraction. Recalling how bickering with Tamina always proved to be a welcome diversion in times of trouble, Dastan approached her with mischief in mind. 

She was in full regalia, her hair artfully braided into a coronet to complement the simple crown of gold she wore. Mysterious eyes edged with kohl and luscious mouth tinged with rouge. She was undeniably stunning, but Dastan still preferred his dusty, windswept, disheveled princess. 

He took her hand, critically examining the intricate six-pointed star painted on it. Tracing the swirls of gold, silver, and white coiling up her arm with his eyes.

Dastan leant forward, much too close, and murmured in her ear, “How long does it take to be decorated so flamboyantly?” 

Tamina stepped back, just managing to suppress a shiver when she felt his warm breath on her neck. 

“You’d be just as lovely without all the ornamentation,” he went on, eyes dancing. “Tell me, is it tradition or vanity? Or are you painted so unworthy men such as myself won’t dare to touch you?"

Tamina’s ire flared quickly at that and she snatched her hand away. With a sneer of profound disdain, she looked him up and down. 

“Why would I want to be groped by a man who looks like he just rolled out of bed into a gutter?” she spat. 

Dastan laughed. “And there she is!” 

Another stinging barb burned on her tongue as the trumpets sounded, announcing the king. Tamina grasped at every thread of self-control she possessed and ignored him, her mask firmly set in place. But Dastan still saw the captivating flash of temper in her eyes and gave her a wink. 

The three princes knelt on one knee as King Sharaman and his retinue rode towards them at speed. Tamina remained standing several paces behind to give them a modicum of privacy but the familial love the four men felt for each other was unmistakable. One by one his sons bowed before him, kissed his signet ring, and then embraced him fully. Dastan’s hug was especially affectionate and Tamina could swear she saw tears in his eyes when he finally let his father go, ducking his head to hide them. The king laughed, ruffling his hair, and Dastan turned to her with a sweet smile, beckoning her forward.

"My King and Father, allow me to present Princess Tamina of Alamut." 

Sharaman gazed at her in silence for a long moment, seemingly at a loss for words. “In all my travels, I have never looked upon a more beautiful city Your Highness,” he said with a wistful smile. “I’m relieved to see our misunderstanding was resolved peacefully.”

Tamina was about to forcefully correct him when she caught Tus’ eye and recognized the dread and agitation he was doing his best to hide. They must deal a painful blow to their beloved father. Her grievances could wait.

“It is my great honor to welcome you, Sire. Please come inside for refreshments, where we may sit in comfort,” she offered.

Tus gave her a tight smile in thanks. She led them to the Consort’s chambers, the only apartments suitable for a king. As they walked, Sharaman chatted easily with Tamina, not noticing the somber expressions of his sons who followed behind them. 

Just before they entered the cozy sitting room, he turned and asked no one in particular. “Where is my dear brother?”

An excruciating silence followed, the king’s expression shifting from serene enjoyment to concern as he searched his sons’ tense faces. Tamina quickly ushered the men into the room, shutting the door quietly after them.

\--- 

In the dim, cool mausoleum of Alamut’s palace, the three princes and their king stood around Nizam’s body, laid out and carefully prepared for his last journey back to Nasaf. After hearing the shocking news of his brother’s death, Sharaman immediately asked to see his body. Rigid and ashen-faced, he held Nizam’s cold hand gently in his, listening to his sons explain how it happened. 

The Persians were unaware that Tamina listened as well, looking down at them from a cleverly hidden viewing gallery. She felt uncomfortable spying on them, intruding on their grief, but pushed self-reproach aside. She was convinced it was necessary, hoping their uncensored conversation would provide the answers she needed. 

“He is always so persuasive,” Tus was saying. “He came with compelling evidence ready to convince us. To convince me. Dastan spoke against the assault on Alamut, but I wouldn’t listen.”

“I didn’t doubt Uncle either, at first” Dastan consoled him. “I only feared the losses we’d suffer getting through that formidable wall.”

Garsiv told them frankly, “I found out from his secretary that the crate of weapons was genuinely on its way to Koshkhan. But it came from the Turks. Kosh’s promise of payment to Alamut was a simple forgery.” He sighed heavily. “Uncle’s plotting is so pervasive, none of his men can be held for treason. They all claim their actions on his behalf, by his order, were nothing out of the ordinary. All swore it was for Persia’s protection, or so they believed. If a few of them knew the truth, we’ll never be able to prove it.” 

Tus knelt before his silent father, bracing himself for his wrath. “We would have seen him brought to you for judgement. But when he came at Dastan, I had to... ” He swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “I still can’t believe I killed him. I’m so sorry Father,” his voice breaking from grief and guilt.

Sharaman tenderly wiped a tear from his son’s cheek, pulling him up into his arms. “I am glad the three of you took care of each other in that dark moment of truth.”

Tus dropped his head on the king’s shoulder, openly weeping now that he felt his father’s forgiveness break through the paralyzing misery that had gripped his heart since it happened. None of them spoke for a long moment, needing time to regain control of their emotions.

“So Alamut was subjected to an unprovoked invasion,” the king said finally, his voice echoing harshly through the silent crypt and the three princes flinched. “Princess Tamina is gracious beyond compare. Especially under the circumstances.”

“We are endeavoring to make amends," Tus said earnestly. "Our men are assisting with the repairs, the work is beginning as we speak. And to give Alamut greater protection, to create a close bond between us, we agreed a union between the princess and Dastan.” 

“What!?” Sharaman exclaimed. “I was asked to consider her for Dastan several years ago but declined on his behalf. You realize she is a true sovereign, a king in all but name. Her Consort must take his place here, by her side.” 

Garsiv swore and Tus blanched, understanding dawning. He turned to Dastan in a panic. “We will withdraw our offer. It’s not too late, nothing official has been decided. You don’t have to…” he stammered.

Alarmed at where this was heading, Dastan broke in with unconscious force. “Please! Please listen. You’ve done me no disservice Tus. I would have stopped it if I wanted to.”

“She _ is _ a great beauty, but Dastan there is more to marriage… ” Tus said before the king interrupted. 

“I would not have you, or her, forced into an unwilling marriage,” Sharaman said gravely. “Is this what you really want Dastan?”

And what could he say. His family, and Tamina herself, would find a declaration of love improbable. Dastan looked up, sharp eyes directed at the gallery where Tamina stood watching. Her breath caught in a silent gasp as she realized he’d known she was there all along; allowed her to spy on them.

“I feel a personal obligation for the destruction we caused,” Dastan answered carefully, “but more than that, Tamina is…” He glanced up at her again fleetingly, “the Princess is a remarkable woman and I … I think we’d suit each other.” Which was true and believable.

His father observed Dastan closely, surprised by the calm and unexpectedly mature certainty on his face and nodded slowly. He’d always felt Dastan was his to care for, to love and nurture. His to raise into the fine man he’d become. But maybe not his to keep. It was possible his son’s fate lay in Alamut and not with them.

“Perhaps we can discuss the betrothal with Princess Tamina tomorrow.” Sharaman wiped a hand wearily over his face. “Now I need to rest and pray for my brother. And for us.” 

As they were leaving, Garsiv stopped Dastan with a hand to his arm. “Tell me this isn’t just because you feel guilty,” he muttered.

“No. I like her. She’s…intriguing.” Dastan chose his words with care, aware that Tamina could still hear them. 

“If that tongue lashing she gave you earlier is any indication of her true nature, you might want to think again,” he warned. 

“With that wit and fire, she’s much more fun to spar with than you, Garsiv.” Dastan smirked. “I actually deserved it.”

Garsiv rolled his eyes dramatically. “Why am I not surprised.”

\---

When Tamina felt it was safe to leave the gallery, she found Dastan waiting for her, arms crossed, and leaning with one shoulder against the wall. She refused to acknowledge the guilty flush that stole over her cheeks. Instead, she calmly stood before him, the arch tilt of her chin daring his reproof. But underneath her outward composure, Tamina’s mind was spinning. What she'd learned was both reassuring and troubling. 

Dastan grew bored with the silence, answering her unspoken question. “I heard you tell your council yesterday that you needed to know why we attacked Alamut and you never asked me.” 

“I didn’t expect you to tell me the truth.”

“I assumed as much. I trust at least a few of your concerns have been addressed?”

_ Except what Nizam hoped to gain by sacking Alamut, _ she thought dryly. _ But perhaps they don’t know. _

Tamina sighed. Unaccountably, what most disturbed her was Dastan letting her overhear his family’s confidences. It was an explicit act of loyalty. Loyalty to her. She didn’t know what to make of it, but began to believe he actually intended to make a genuine commitment to Alamut. 

“The burial ceremony will take place at dawn. It is our custom to fast and pray through the night so I must ask your leave to be excused from our evening meal.”

Dastan frowned, confused by the change of subject. “Of course, Princess.” He noticed a hint of a smile. She looked almost friendly. “I can go with you?”

At her nod, he asked “Are there traditions I should adhere to? Colors I should avoid wearing?”

Tamina was amused by how eager to please he seemed and brazenly decided to take advantage. “No weapons and wear white.” 

She moved closer with a gleam in her eye he’d never seen before. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she looked flirtatious. Tamina reached up and drew a finger slowly, lingeringly through the stubble on his cheek, from his crescent-shaped scar down to the corner of his mouth. 

"Clean yourself up" she ordered, swatting the collar of his open tunic with the back of her hand before turning to leave. 

Dastan gaped after her, forgetting to breathe for a moment and smiled wryly when she threw a smug grin back at him over her shoulder. _Well. That was new._


	4. Aftermath

Tamina fell into the trance easily, effortlessly. Aware of her heartbeat slowing down, concentrating on subtle sensations that her focused mind now experienced in sharp detail. The pungent scent of the incense lit for lamentation, the hard stone under her knees, the quiet breathing of the other Guardians surrounding her. Her mind wandered freely, an ebb and flow of thought and emotion. She savored the perfect moment, where time seemed to stop, the profound consciousness of peace.

And then everything changed. It felt as if she was falling from a great height, from heaven down to earth, panic threatening to overcome her. When she regained control of her senses, she was somewhere else. 

_ Sheltered in a diaphanous tent with a storm raging outside, Tamina felt strong arms holding her tightly against a man’s solid chest. Gentle hands caressed her back and she felt his lips linger on her neck, a whisper of touch. His warmth and the steady beat of his heart soothed her fears. _

_ “Tamina, I'm here. You’re not alone.” _

_His promise eased the great weight she carried, the suffocating duty. _

_ “I'm here. I see you, Tamina,” he breathed into her skin. “I love you…” _

_ She felt his words sear like a brand, burning into her soul. Tamina wept in gratitude, finally free of her deeply ingrained loneliness. _

_ But then joy became chaos. The fragile tent was slashed open by a battle axe, their insubstantial protection ripped away into biting, whirling sand. She saw a masked demon in chain armour threateningly lift a double-bladed halberd before he calmly turned to meet the maelstrom surging toward them. _

_ Tamina grasped her lover tightly, trying to hold him safe in her arms but he was torn from her, taken by the sandstorm. _

She came back with a jolt, falling forward, just barely catching herself, palms on the rough stone floor, gasping for breath. The others didn’t react, discipline keeping their curiosity in check. Tamina gave the dagger a perfunctory obeisance, rose unsteadily to her feet, and left the temple. It would take an effort to calm down and she knew prayer and meditation wouldn’t help. Instead, she wandered aimlessly through the dark palace and gardens until she was needed for the funeral, her mind reeling. _ Visions. Finally, the Gods speak. But what are they trying to tell me? _

\---

At his place behind Tamina and the other Guardians, Dastan looked around at the mourners walking with them, the bodies of the fallen being carried on the shoulders of their loved ones. The torch-lit procession, already a hundred strong, moved solemnly through the city, stopping at the homes of the dead. 

Tamina went forward at each house to be formally greeted by the chief mourner, usually a wife, who bowed and shared a few words with their High Priestess before the whole family joined in the silent walk to the next. Most tragic was the door opening on two children, a boy of about 14 and his little sister. Dastan couldn’t see Tamina’s expression, but he saw her fist clench before she placed it lightly on the boy’s shoulder, speaking with them softly. She gently wiped a few tears from the girl’s face, took each by the hand and the three of them led the procession together as their father’s body was taken up by the Guardians.

Watching the bereaved, Dastan accepted the brutal weight of guilt. Although he’d never been so starkly confronted with the consequence of the countless battles he’d fought, the feeling wasn’t unfamiliar. Only the grief-stricken, sometimes bitter, mourners he’d faced were the families of his own men, not his adversaries. He hoped Tamina’s people could forgive him in time. So far, he hadn’t felt any hostility. They knew he walked among them, he was sure, but didn’t acknowledge his presence one way or the other. Only the children shot curious glances at him. 

As the sky lightened with the colors of the dawn, they left the city, following an ancient road that climbed gently up a small rise toward a large open field sheltered by cypress trees. He was surprised when they came to a dark tunnel, only to realize they were entering a sunken amphitheater, as fine as any of the ruins he’s seen that survived from the ancient world, but still pristine and well-cared for. Dastan looked around in awe at the thousands of people, the citizens of Alamut, surrounding them, and was glad to also see his father, brothers, Bis, and many of his own men standing at the back. Tamina and the Guardians walked out into the arena where a fire burned brightly within a wide circular mound of sand, the mourners laid the dead at Tamina’s feet and took their places at the front. 

The ceremony itself was short, more ritual than personal. He supposed the families had said their good-byes at home, in private. Tamina intoned prayers in a language he’d never heard spoken before, the Guardians sang together in a strangely affecting chorus that was more chant than song, the flame extinguished and it was over. One by one, the fallen were carried away and Tamina moved to the entrance of the amphitheater to talk to any who wanted a word with her as they departed. Not being directed otherwise, Dastan went to stand close by with Asoka. 

Tamina kept the children by her side, her attention already focused on the problem of their new home. She and Ravan asked careful questions to get to know them. Jahan and Nasrin had come to Alamut with their father only recently, fleeing from war, but death caught them anyway. Tamina’s heart ached for them. 

She noticed Jahan’s growing distraction with a large group of men talking nearby, muffled laughter and obvious shushing disturbing the solemn atmosphere as the last of the funeral-goers left. Tamina saw Dastan at the center, telling some story that was apparently extremely entertaining. She caught Asoka’s eye and raised a questioning brow so he came to join them.

“Jahan, you may go listen to Prince Dastan if you wish,” Tamina told the boy. Then turning to Asoka, she asked, “Do you have an opinion about where we should place the children?” 

“Actually Highness, my wife and I would like to take them, our own boys are Jahan’s friends and Azadi has always wished for a daughter.”

Tamina smiled warmly, relieved at such a quick and satisfactory solution. The children would have a good home with the Captain and also benefit from his high standing. She was just about to tell him so when another round of male laughter broke her train of thought and she turned to the rowdy crowd with a frown of disapproval. 

“Prince Dastan showed up at the palace barracks last night, agitated about finding suitable clothing and a barber,” Asoka said with a noticeable undercurrent of amusement. “Bijan, the duty officer, took him in hand and found him something to wear. It wasn’t easy, he'srather tall.”

“The men forgive what he did to us? To them? To you?” she asked Asoka in disbelief, gesturing to his wounded arm. 

“His abilities are admirable,” Asoka explained, shrugging. “He reminds us all of the heroes of old.”

“And the general consensus is he can charm the skin off a snake,” Ravan added sardonically.

Irrationally irked that Dastan was being so easily accepted and obviously liked by her people, Tamina muttered, “Or charm the flies off shit.”

Ravan snorted a laugh and Tamina slapped a hand over her mouth, appalled that she’d uttered such a vulgarity out loud. She looked around wildly for little Nasrin but was relieved to see she’d gone with her brother and let out an embarrassed giggle.

Carrying Nasrin in his arms, Dastan sauntered over, drawn by her laughter. He looked every inch a prince today, wearing a white silk kaftan with a wide golden sash at his waist and a modest turban keeping his wild hair in check. Tamina ruefully admitted to herself she’d made a mistake ordering him to shave. Due to the wide grin he gave her, for the first time she noticed his slashing dimples which unfairly intensified the power of his smile. With an effort, Tamina prevented her eyes from roaming over him in frank appreciation and quickly controlled her expression, putting on a haughty sneer just to be safe. 

“I don’t believe I’ve done anything to earn such displeasure,” he said warily as they started to follow the others returning to the city.

“Not yet,” she said tartly. 

Nasrin raised a sleepy head from Dastan’s shoulder. “He’s nice! He said he’d carry me because my feet hurt,” the little girl admonished her.

Tamina kissed her cheek in apology. “Indeed, I’m sure he’s always nice to sweet girls like you. But Prince Dastan always teases me.”

“I’m sure you could be sweet if you tried Princess,” Dastan said with mocking sincerity.

“That is an unkind assertion, Prince Dastan,” she replied loftily. But the playful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth made his heart skip a beat. 

“You should eat more honey cakes,” he advised matter-of-factly. “That would make you sweeter, don’t you think so Nasrin?” and the little girl nodded solemnly in agreement.

“And halva. I like halva” Nasrin added. “I’m hungry,” she said suddenly, wiggling out of Dastan’s arms to run ahead to her brother who walked with Asoka and their new family. 

Tamina shook her head, bemused. “What a ridiculous conversation.” 

“My favorite kind,” Dastan chuckled, nudging her shoulder with his. After a few moments of silence, he asked quietly, “What will happen to them? An orphanage?” 

“There are no orphans in Alamut,” Tamina said proudly. “Every child is a blessing. Captain Asoka and his wife will take them. The boy, Jahan, intends to join the guard like his father, has in fact already begun his training. And little Nasrin...”

“Just needs to be loved,” Dastan finished the thought for her. “You know all your subjects so well?” he asked curiously. He was beginning to recognize there was much more to Tamina than the heroic Guardian of the erased time.

“Well, as High Priestess, I see all the children who’ve been born, those getting married and those who’ve died since I lead the ceremonies that mark the journey of their lives. Also, the few who find their way to us and ask to settle here like Jahan and Nasrin’s father and of course those who come to my attention in other ways. Not absolutely everyone, but probably most of my people by now.” 

“How long have you ruled?” he asked in surprise.

“Since I was twelve years old.” 

Dastan stopped dead in shocked dismay, the ramifications of her simple statement hitting him like a physical blow. A lost childhood. Not only lost but extinguished by sorrow, isolation, duty, and sacrifice. He finally understood the fortress she built around herself and his heart ached for the young Tamina. And for the woman she became to endure it. 

Without considering how she might react, Dastan pulled her into his arms, compelled to offer solace whether she’d welcome it or not. Tamina stiffened and instinctively pushed against him to free herself but his vitality, his intoxicating scent, and unbelievable strength overwhelmed her for a moment. She allowed herself to relax against him, savoring the sensation of his arm tightening around her waist and his hand sweeping up and down her back. Feeling unexpectedly soothed and cherished. Until an echo of the vision flitted through her mind. 

_ ‘You’re not alone.’ _

As she wandered in the dark hours that morning, she wondered if the man she saw, the one she loved and who loved her, could be Dastan. As his comforting warmth seeped into her, she both hoped and feared that it was. But fear won out and she broke his hold, stepping back.

Tamina stared up at Dastan blankly, unable to cope with the raw compassion in his eyes. Only when she felt his calloused thumb gently brush a tear from her cheek did she realize she was crying. Absently trying to remember the last time she’d cried, she fretfully wiped them off. 

“I must be more fatigued than I thought,” she said dully, turning away from him to pass through the city gate.

\---

Tamina woke from a thankfully dreamless nap early in the afternoon. Several servants immediately came in to offer food and help her dress but she dismissed them with polite restraint. Annoyingly, Dastan was right, their endless fussing with her appearance often drove her mad. Tamina wanted to be left alone to think and wished she could retreat to her sanctuary in the catacombs for a few days, but knew she couldn’t. There were still important matters she must attend to. 

The betrothal. Tamina sighed inwardly, recognizing there was no acceptable reason not to agree to it. No reason other than the alarming effect Dastan was having on her, making her feel things she was wholly unprepared for. 

Going into her sitting room to eat, Tamina heard male voices in the Consort’s chambers next door, Dastan and the king, and decided to join them to get it over with. Hesitating at the open door, she watched father and son with grim resignation. These Persian men who were wreaking havoc on her life. She wondered if all women facing marriage to a stranger felt this way.

“I knew in my heart it was wrong. I should have tried harder to convince Tus and Garsiv. If we’d only waited for your instruction to reach us… or talked to Princess Tamina directly, this could all have been avoided” Dastan told his father with regret.

Sharaman smiled at him fondly. “A great man stands up for what he believes is right, no matter the consequences. I saw that potential in you as a boy. A great man also does not dwell on mistakes or faults of the past, but accepts his responsibility and learns from it.”

“Yes Father, I understand. Better than I would have a few days ago.” _ More like a few weeks ago, _Dastan thought morosely. 

As the king squeezed his shoulder affectionately, Sharaman noticed her hovering on the threshold. “Highness, please come in. I hope we didn’t wake you, Dastan was concerned about your well-being after the strain of the last few days.”

_ Only because he saw me teary-eyed, _Tamina thought sulkily, angry with herself for showing such weakness. 

“I admit being reluctant when he _ insisted _I rest. But I do feel better now,” she conceded. Only Dastan heard the faint resentment in her voice and gave her a wink.

“The ceremony this morning was quite beautiful and impressive with the whole populace in attendance,” the king went on. “I thank you for allowing us to join you.”

“And we are glad you came,” Tamina replied diplomatically. 

“I find your magnanimous forgiveness deeply humbling Princess, to treaty with my sons even though we made such a dreadful mistake. Are you satisfied with their proposals?” 

“Yes, the offered reparations and labor are sufficient.” 

Sharaman’s voice gentled. “And my son’s offer of alliance through marriage?” 

“You are willing to give Prince Dastan to Alamut?” she asked bluntly.

“I understand your position as monarch requires a reversal of traditional roles. Which will indeed be a sacrifice for his brothers and I. One could say a penance we deserve.”

Dastan found himself holding his breath. Tamina glanced at him before returning her gaze to King Sharaman and he saw her swallow thickly before setting her jaw. 

“Very well Sire, for the purpose of guaranteeing a binding treaty… I agree to a pledge of marriage.” Dastan exhaled slowly, lightheaded with relief. 

“And you, my son, will you serve your king to fulfill our obligations to Alamut, both in solidarity and safekeeping?” Sharaman asked with dignified formality, befitting the moment.

“I will, Father” Dastan replied earnestly, feeling the desperate anxiety he’d been suffering since he came back melt away. _ I’ll have time now, time to find her again. _


	5. Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter (and it's title!) was inspired by DarlingJenny's lovely and sweet story of the same name, 'Negotiations' :)

The next morning Dastan found himself sitting across from Tamina in a room full of strangers listening to the head of her council read out the clauses of their marriage contract. At dinner the night before, King Sharaman announced his intention to bring his brother home for burial the following day. When he vaguely mentioned he'd return ‘in a month or so,’ Tamina unexpectedly requested that the contract be dealt with before his departure. 

“At the occasion of her marriage, Princess Tamina shall be crowned Queen of Alamut. Prince Dastan of Persia shall be given the title Prince Consort of Alamut,” Speaker Ikram recited in an austere monotone.

His family sat by his side in solidarity, Tus listening pensively and Garsiv with his arms crossed morosely. Unconvinced and still upset, his brothers had spent several hours trying to talk him out of it. Only when he uncharacteristically lost his temper, shouting that he knew what he was doing, did they finally give up. Compared to his brothers, the king accepted his decision rather easily. Reconciled to life’s twists and turns, certain that such things happened for a reason. His own conviction in adopting Dastan being a fine example.

“Although Prince Dastan may continue to practice any faith of his choosing, their children must be raised in the faith of Alamut in preparation for the important positions they will hold in the priesthood. Especially the eldest daughter, who will become High Priestess and monarch in her turn.”

Dastan felt like they were engaged in a terms of surrender negotiation. He knew royal marriages were coldblooded but since he was actually in love with his future wife, it was very disheartening. All the more so because Tamina’s stoic expression was one of resolute compliance. Performing yet another onerous duty for the good of Alamut.

“Prince Dastan and his family will have no rights of inheritance of titles or goods over the city-state of Alamut. Only the lawful children of Queen Tamina may accede,” Ikram droned on.

“If the Queen shall die before her daughter is of age to rule, Prince Dastan shall assume the role of Regent until that time. Therefore, he must sit on the Queen's council to prepare for this responsibility if it should fall upon him. Furthermore, in the event of Prince Dastan’s death, the head of his family, in this case the King of Persia, shall be or name the Regent.”

That caught his attention, instinct telling him there must be a grave reason behind it. He assumed he wouldn't be allowed to exercise any power over the city. He sighed, not at all liking the thought of endless council meetings. 

Dastan watched Tamina twist the intricate silver ring she wore, her only outward sign of nerves, refusing to look at him. His father’s words came uncomfortably to mind._ ‘I would not have you, or her, forced into an unwilling marriage.' _Guilt gnawed at him. He studied her face, impassive and brittle, wondering what she was thinking, feeling more and more depressed.

“The fulfillment of the marriage will be achieved only by consummation, preferably on the wedding night, unless the Queen shall be indisposed due to lunar illness,” Ikram stated indifferently as if he was remarking on the weather. 

Tamina frowned at that, sharing a sardonic glance with Ravan. Dastan could guess what annoyed her. Monarch or not, men still saw her as a lowly woman. It only got worse from there.

“The Prince shall have access to the Queen every other night to ensure the timely conception of her heir.” 

Dastan grimaced. His brothers warned him about the dreaded ‘Access Clause'. Four nights in eight was generous if they were to be believed, but the implied compulsion made him exceedingly uncomfortable. He could practically feel Garsiv’s smirk.

“After a daughter is born and one year old, Prince Dastan may take a second wife.”

“No!” Dastan almost shouted and slapped his open palm on the table, making everyone jump. “No,” he said again, managing a calmer tone. 

“If Prince Dastan wishes to extend access or-” Ikram scowled disapprovingly.

Dastan cut him off, addressing Tamina directly with controlled civility “Princess, may I have a word with you?”

The whole room erupted in protesting murmurs, Tus swore softly and Garsiv barked a laugh. Tamina crossed her arms, looking very put out.

Sharaman raised a hand, demanding silence. “Princess Tamina, my son seeks a private audience, do you assent to his request?”

Against her better judgement, Tamina nodded. Leaving the disgruntled chatter of the council chamber, they heard the king chuckle. “This should prove interesting.” 

As soon as the door shut behind them, clenched fists planted on her hips in irritation, Tamina snapped, “So, Prince Dastan you are unhappy with the terms of the agreement?”

Dastan took a moment to gather his wits, recognizing this discussion might govern the rest of their lives. 

“First of all, it will be written in the contract that I may not, under any circumstances, take another wife,” he began.

That shocked her. But he ruined the possibly romantic sentiment by adding, “I'll have my hands full enough with you as it is,” with one of his cheeky grins. 

_ Does that mean he thinks I’m nothing but trouble or _… Tamina didn’t know whether to be offended or blush. Her eyes narrowed threateningly. 

“And,” he swiftly continued, “I don’t want our daily life to be so...,” he paused, searching for the right word, “prescribed. I prefer to have the freedom to forge our relationship together, to choose for ourselves.”

Astonished, she averted her eyes, trying to absorb what he was suggesting. _ Freedom to choose. Together._

“Tamina, I know you aren’t ready for this, that you feel coerced.” Then with a hard edge to his voice, “And I don’t want you if you feel that way.”

Her head jerked up to meet his steady gaze. Dastan came to her, earnest and unreserved, hiding nothing. 

“I told you before, I wish to marry for reasons beyond duty or politics. I ask you not to sign the contract until... _ if_ you’re ready. I'll sign it on Persia’s behalf as a guarantee of our commitment to Alamut. As a promise of my commitment to you.” 

“They'll make a fuss,” she said hesitantly without rejecting his plan outright.

“My father will support this and you are the monarch of Alamut. If you agree, they cannot deny us.” 

He held out a hand to her, the gesture mirroring his initial proposal four days past, which oddly seemed like a lifetime ago. Much had changed for her since then. More than she could comprehend, let alone come to terms with. Dastan’s surprising rebellion against the conventions of a royal marriage forced her to reconsider her position yet again. 

From their first conversation, she instinctively sensed the danger he posed, a risk she was strangely reluctant to take. Tamina didn’t understand why she felt so unsettled, so unnerved by him. She needed to know the extent of her vulnerability. She took his hand, drawing it around her waist, holding it there with their fingers entwined and reached for his shoulder with slow deliberation, clutching the thick linen of his tunic.

“Kiss me Dastan.” 

Eyes dropping involuntarily to her luscious mouth, Dastan wasn’t sure if he should, but he really, _ really _wanted to. More a demand than an amorous invitation, her determined expression reminded him of the only other time she’d asked for his kiss. Not exactly a pleasant memory, but it made him smile nonetheless. She’d been magnificent in her deadly fury. 

Tamina waited with taut expectancy. She tried to meet his penetrating look. His blue eyes like deep, clear water ringed by a darker shade that reminded her of the sea or a twilight sky. But the weight of his gaze became too heavy to bear. Flustered, she closed her eyes, breathing in the heady scent of sandalwood mixed with an earthy musk that must be his alone. 

Dastan dipped his head, resting his forehead against hers, falling into reminiscence. Their first kiss had been a gentle, bittersweet farewell. A last chance to express their love before time ran out. It hurt that she didn’t remember. _ She’ll remember this one though, _ he thought wryly, feeling a bit shaky.

Then she felt the exquisitely soft brush of his lips at her temple, sweeping languidly along her cheek to the corner of her mouth. Tamina shivered, the anticipation a sweet kind of agony. Finally, Dastan kissed her, a whisper of touch teasing her mouth. She grasped his collar in a fist, pulling him closer as his chaste kisses rained down, savoring her lips like sips of fine wine. 

Tamina made a husky whine in the back of her throat, frustrated by his gentleness, innocently unaware what she wanted from him, only that she needed _ more_. His hands slid up her sides, lingering gingerly on the curves of her body, along her delicate neck to cup her face. She gasped in surprise when he sucked on her full bottom lip, tongue gliding into her mouth when she opened for him, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. She lost herself in his embrace, completely letting go. Not caring that her palms swept immodestly over his hard chest or that the breathless moans and whimpers she uttered sounded indecent.

Dastan relished the undulation of her body writhing against him, how she impatiently tugged on his shirt. His restraint began to falter. He let a hand drift down the plunging neckline of her dress, skimming over the generous swell of her breasts, her creamy skin silky and warm, making his fingertips tingle. 

She arched into his body with a low hum of approval and his control crumbled further. He took her perfect breasts in his hands, exploring them through the gauzy layers of silk she wore, before moving down to grasp at her hips, the lush roundness of her bottom, the small of her back. All the while plundering her mouth until he could barely breathe.

Tamina was drowning in desire, utterly unprepared for the storm of sensation that consumed her. There was just him and the feeling of their bodies pressed together. Her hands pushing under his tunic to wrap around his naked back, his taste in her mouth. Dastan touching her with a possessive intimacy that should have shocked her, but only drove her deeper into mindless arousal. She ached at her core, growing wet with want, making her yearn for a relief she didn’t understand.

Somewhere in the haze of his hunger, Dastan recalled the room full of people next door. Mastering himself, he gradually loosened his hold, kissing her softly again. Hands that had been urgently roaming over her body became lightly caressing. Reluctantly, he drew away, watching as her eyes opened slowly, blinking in confusion until she remembered where she was. 

Heart thudding and slightly dizzy, Tamina stood frozen before him. Stunned. She felt a hot blush stain her cheeks, mortified by her wanton behavior. Dastan smiled at her, that tender look in his eyes. Wordlessly he reached out to tidy her hair, gently pulling at her clothing and she realized he was making her presentable again. Erasing the evidence of their indiscretion. 

As he rearranged her gown, Dastan fought to subdue his arousal. Overwhelmed by her uninhibited fire, he couldn’t take his eyes off her mouth, lips worked red from his kisses. A faint warning drifted into his mind. _ Strange for her to lose control like that _ and the thought gave him pause. Even if her passionate response to him was spontaneous and real he knew she never did anything without a reason. 

“Discovered what you wanted to know Princess?” he asked blandly.

Tamina flushed at his accurate deduction. Yes, she had learned what she wanted to know. He was the one who had brought them back to reality and she’d like to ascribe that to his no doubt extensive experience, but she recognized that the total abandon and freedom she felt with him could change her in fundamental ways. _ It will be all or nothing then, _ she acknowledged to herself, _ just like he wants. _

“Very well,” she said with composure, ignoring his question, “I accept your terms.”

Dastan let out a rueful laugh. He should have guessed the kiss was to help her make that decision. As usual, he wished he knew what she was thinking. Shaking his head in amused chagrin, he offered her his hand. 

“Shall we?”

At her nod, they re-entered the chamber hand in hand to inform the council what they'd agreed. Only the king was not surprised.


	6. Reminiscence

Accompanied by her adjuncts, Tamina strode briskly down the corridor with Ikram muttering at her back until her patience broke. 

“That’s enough, Speaker!” She turned on him in irritation. “It is _ our _ marriage, _ our _ life. I’ve made up my mind, the amended contract will stand!”

“But Princess,” he sputtered, “the Access clause is for your convenience, if not outright protection. Surely you recognize that.”

Tamina did. However, she was fairly certain Dastan wasn’t the kind of man to impose himself on an unwilling woman. Their kiss also made it abundantly clear that her ‘conjugal obligations’ wouldn’t be a hardship. _ Not at all_, she admitted to herself dryly.

When Tamina’s only response was a slight flush of color on her cheeks, Ikram conceded, “The one-wife stipulation was well done though. You have avoided troublesome complications by persuading him to agree to it.”

Ikram was trying to be complementary in that condescending way of his, but Tamina couldn’t let his assumption pass unrefuted. She admired Dastan for having the audacity to challenge those ingrained matrimonial customs, knowing she wouldn’t have dared. 

“_All _ the changes... No, I should say, all the _ improvements_, were Prince Dastan’s idea,” she told them firmly. “Also, when the contract is ready, he requests that I not sign it immediately. I accept Alamut requires me to bind Persia to us as quickly as possible. However, the prince…” 

“He demands more than a political union?” Ravan interjected in surprise, getting to the heart of the matter as usual. 

“Demand is a strong word, but yes. He wants a...a true marriage and insists I need more time. Although I'm not sure what he expects...” Tamina’s voice faded away awkwardly.

Ikram’s perturbed expression eased. _ He cares for her! _he realized, astonished and also immensely relieved. 

“Please do not concern yourself Highness,” he said, uncharacteristically cheerful. “We should have the treaty arranged in a few days. That will do for now.” 

Ikram patted her hand affectionately. Touched by her uncertainty, the officious and inflexible patriarch softened, bridging the divide inherent in their positions to offer reassurance and Tamina appreciated his kindness very much.

Her sudden, bright smile made him blink, dazzled by the unexpected flash of radiance. Through the years he’d worried about her, watching their vibrant, luminous princess dim little by little, powerless to help her._ I pray this unconventional Persian can. _

\---

Dastan’s eyes followed Tamina as she swept from the room. Judging by Ikram's fretful expression when Tamina instructed him to remove the more intimate clauses of the marriage agreement, the council spokesman disapproved. Dastan saw him arguing with her as they left and wondered how often Tamina rejected her council’s advice. 

Garsiv came up behind him, landing an unnecessarily forceful slap to his back. Dastan scowled at the malicious grin on his face.

“Don’t start,” he grumbled.

“Unusual contract,” Garsiv said conversationally. “Did she kiss you into submission?”

Of course, he spotted their ruddy lips and had no compunction taunting him about it. Dastan crossed his arms, refusing to answer. If he admitted the changes were his idea, he’d never hear the end of it. Garsiv was about to fling another barb when Tus elbowed him in the ribs to shut him up. 

Just like Garsiv, he questioned Dastan’s judgement in pursuing the princess. However, his steadfast resolve was beginning to convince Tus he wasn’t blinded by capricious infatuation. His observations during the marriage council persuaded him Dastan felt _something _ for the girl. Tus intended to give his support by leaving him alone.

“Father’s departure grows near,” Tus said, attempting to diffuse their impending squabble. “We’ve been packing Uncle’s belongings but can’t find his royal seal. It must be buried with him or destroyed. Come lend a hand?”

Dastan readily agreed, thinking it’d be an opportunity to search for clues to the Hassansin’s lair if his brothers hadn’t already done so.

“Is he all right?” Dastan asked. “Have you spoken to him about Uncle?”

“Not about what happened and why. He's been reminiscing about their boyhood escapades, remembering him with love. In hindsight, I have the feeling they’d become estranged in the last few years. I wasn’t paying attention as I should have, always too concerned with my own affairs,” Tus said ruefully.

“And he still wants us to stay in Alamut?” Dastan asked. He wouldn’t leave Tamina by choice, although he didn't want to abandon their father in his time of grief.

“He seems to find it more important we continue our work here, see it properly done. I hope it’s not because he’s upset with us. Or even disillusioned?” Tus asked hesitantly.

“Don’t worry. He gave you the authority to negotiate our treaty with Alamut. He has full confidence in you,” Garsiv assured him. “We should take Father at his word that he doesn’t need us right now. Bear in mind how he was when Mother passed away,” he added as they made their way down the grand staircase, each glancing somberly at the place Nizam died. 

Dastan thought back to that unhappy time. Losing his beloved wife devastated their father. He completely withdrew from court and his responsibilities. The king’s inexperienced sons filled the void as best they could under their uncle’s guidance and tutelage, dutifully following his lead. Dastan wondered if that was when Nizam acquired a taste for absolute rule and began to covet the reins of power. 

As they saddled their horses in the palace stables, Garsiv’s steed took the chance to nip at Dastan’s shoulder, tearing the seam of his only decent shirt.

“Aksh! Stinking mule!” he bellowed as Garsiv laughed so hard he choked on it. Dastan grasped the bridle to mutter in the horse’s ear, “Watch it or I won’t bring Tamina to say hello. You adore her Aksh, even if you don’t know it yet. Behave!” 

He gave the irascible stallion another stern glare, rocking back on his heels when Aksh leaned into him with a friendly nicker. Dastan found it curious that the horse’s ears had twitched receptively at hearing Tamina’s name. But before he could give it a second thought, the three princes mounted and were off. 

Passing through the city gate they spurred their horses into a gallop, whooping at the pure thrill of the wild ride. Sharing an unspoken agreement to ignore the direct path to the army’s encampment, they flew past the green fields and orchards that surrounded the city, heading out into the open desert. Shouting insults and taunts, the brothers launched into a boisterous race, enjoying the contest even though Garsiv usually finished in front. And this time was no different.

“Aksh won, Brother, not you,” Tus protested, irked by Garsiv’s crowing. 

Dastan grinned. “Exactly! Let me ride him for a rematch,” he said, slowing his horse to a walk so both he and his mount could catch their breath. 

“My steed, my victory,” Garsiv retorted. “Get your own Bucephalus!” 

It was a running joke between them that Aksh could be a descendant of Alexander’s legendary black stallion, being so fine a horse. It pleased Garsiv enormously that Aksh was famous throughout the empire in his own right.

Riding aimlessly, they found themselves gazing down on Alamut from a high plateau, just as they’d first laid eyes upon it. A precious jewel nestled in a wide verdant valley, glimmering in the fierce sunlight. 

They didn't realize it, but the brothers were all preoccupied by the same melancholy truth. Their constant companionship was coming to an end. Even if Dastan wasn’t leaving them for Alamut, this campaign would’ve been their last together. Their future roles had been decided months ago: Tus to remain in Nasaf, taking on more responsibility in preparation for his future reign, Garsiv to lead the army, and Dastan to travel as the King’s Ambassador. 'Putting your guileless affability to good use!' Tus had commented with teasing pride. 

“Your chosen home is beautiful,” Tus said, breaking their silent contemplation.

“You could’ve seen the world Dastan, now you’ll be stuck here. Lovely or not,” Garsiv taunted, obviously referring to Tamina herself rather than her city.

Dastan smiled whimsically, thinking of the intoxicating way she’d trembled at his touch and the sweet taste of her mouth. 

“Some women are an adventure in themselves,” he countered. To which Garsiv gave a skeptical grunt.

Tus chuckled. “I’ve found that to be true of most women. They are endlessly compelling.” 

Dastan glanced at Tus, hesitating over a delicate question that had been puzzling him. Based on what happened before and knowing his weakness for beauty, Dastan had steeled himself to endure the nightmare of losing Tamina to his elder brother. He’d been astounded when Tus named him instead. 

Dastan shrugged inwardly, deciding to ask anyway. “Why didn’t you offer for the princess yourself?”

“Ah.” Tus looked rather sheepish. “I was going to…except I saw you staring at her and thought better of it.”

Dastan ducked his head in embarrassment. _I probably looked like a lovesick fool._ That first glimpse of Tamina alive and well had literally stolen his breath.

“I’d never seen you exhibit such unguarded longing, especially for a titled lady,” Tus went on.

“Yes, a cask of spiced ale,” ribbed Garsiv, “but not a woman!”

By the time they’d stopped laughing, the awkward moment had passed. 

“We should really get started on our task,” Tus said regretfully. They turned their mounts to a rough trail winding down to the sea of tents sprawled across the valley floor far below.

Just as they passed the sentries, Dastan asked, “Have you come across anything that could lead us to the Hassansins?”

“Nothing useful,” Garsiv answered. “Uncle’s secretary showed me his personal accounts. There are a number of suspicious expenses. I found records ordering the delivery of highly addictive concoctions which I recognized from Uncle’s lessons about them. You remember? The ones supposedly giving them herculean strength and uncanny abilities.”

His brothers both nodded and Dastan jerked his head toward a nearby table laden with the dregs of the midday meal. The princes strode by, grabbing leftover food and drink as they passed. 

“No idea where he’s keeping them though,” Garsiv mumbled around a mouthful of bread. “If we can’t find anything here, I’ll have to search in Nasaf for properties he owned or had access to. Which will be extremely tedious.”

The soldier guarding Nizam’s tent bowed as they entered and the brothers looked around glumly, daunted by the amount of work ahead of them. Their uncle did not travel light. Without a word, they each took a corner and began methodically scrutinizing every article, only packing it away when it was judged to be unimportant. Any doubtful objects were collected on the narrow camp bed for closer examination. 

After an hour, since Tus had finished his portion, having mostly clothing to sort through, he sat down to tackle the ‘look at later’ pile. Garsiv was still occupied with Nizam’s collection of documents. Weary of reading, he started throwing the scrolls haphazardly in Tus’ direction, receiving heated oaths in return. Meanwhile, Dastan was poking around an empty trunk, checking it for hidden compartments, when Bis joined them.

“Good day to you, Princes,” he said casually. 

As Dastan's inseparable childhood friend, Bis enjoyed a fluid sort of kinship. In private, he was a younger brother to them all. Sometimes amusing, often annoying, yet all the same, a member of the family.

“There is a minor point of contention about the inner gate. The engineer needs a decision from one of you before he can proceed.”

“I’ll go,” Garsiv said at once, bolting out of the tent before his brothers could open their mouths.

Dastan gave a disgruntled snort. “Sorry Bis, you’ll have to help now.”

As he worked, Dastan’s thoughts dwelled on his adopted uncle, disturbed that he hadn't sensed the venomous revulsion lurking under Nizam’s unctuous facade. It was true they’d spent little time together when Dastan was young, but at a certain point past the purview of formal education, Nizam had taken him in hand. Teaching the intricate arts of diplomacy, strategic reasoning, and leadership. Molding him into a prince. 

He recalled spending hours observing his father holding court, sitting at Nizam’s side as he murmured incessantly in his ear. Relating the background of every man who requested an audience with the king and how to use that knowledge to Persia’s advantage. How his eyes flashed with interest when a new face appeared, eager to unearth their weaknesses. Nizam had shared his ruthless gifts freely, offering excellent advice and willing counsel. Bestowing his care and attention. _ It had all been a lie. _

Packing Nizam’s armour and weapons, Dastan grimaced, thinking how proficient he actually was with a blade, even though he’d never seen him train or even exercise. He clenched a fist in abrupt fury. _ Ungrateful, evil, vile... traitor! _ The betrayal was agonizing. Yet his fond memories wouldn’t let him be. Dastan could imagine how his father felt. Perhaps he too would cling to the mirage of the uncle he loved, real or not.

\---

Tamina settled into the plush cushions of a comfortable divan on her balcony, breathing in the potent scent of roses drifting up from the garden below her chambers. She intended to enjoy this interlude, a stolen moment of leisure because she refused to endure dress fittings for the whole afternoon. Tamina questioned the necessity for yet more gowns of white and gold; she couldn't tell them apart anyway. She idly wondered if they'd let her wear more colorful garments after she wed. 

_ Marriage. _ She'd never given it much thought which was rather naive of her. She did hold some unfortunate assumptions based on her predecessors' writings in the Annals. When they bothered to mention their consorts at all, it was usually a brief, often curt description of dissatisfaction. The comments mostly referred to the difficulty of keeping Alamut’s secrets or suggested ways to encourage your husband to go back where he came from after siring an heir. Not the most encouraging examples of joyful unions. 

Tamina considered the nature of her parents’ marriage, dismayed to discover she had no idea. She didn’t recall outright dislike or animosity but then what? Indifference or tolerance, partnership or friendship? Perhaps love? 

Losing her mother so young, maybe her ignorance was understandable since children don’t notice such things, at least not with deliberate scrutiny. Except Tamina was uncomfortably aware it was due to a more profound issue. She suffered a wound that hadn't truly healed. 

She didn't think of her mother very often. Even worse, Tamina suspected she actively suppressed memories of her. For the first time, she forced herself to face the reasons she instinctively rejected her past. She took in a tremulous breath, hoping she’d be able to confront them with detachment and composure. When she was finally able to examine her feelings dispassionately, the answer came surprisingly easily. 

Resentful bitterness born of pain lay at the root of it. Irrational anger at her mother for leaving her and a perilous rage at the Gods for taking her away. Her mother’s destiny, her tragic fate, must have been their doing. There was no getting around that fact. And harboring bitter fury was a dangerous affront to divine beings, even if they deserved it. _No wonder I buried my hatred so deep it had been necessary to bury my childhood along with it._

_ And now? _ Closing her eyes, Tamina searched within for insight. Her seething resentment seemed to have abated with time, becoming a quiet undercurrent of animosity which she hadn't realized she carried with her. Fortunately, she was reasonably certain the Gods didn’t require adoration from their Guardians, only unwavering vigilance and faithful obedience. 

Tamina felt long denied grief fill her heart. Seeking an image of her mother's face, nothing came to her. She was suddenly distraught, terrified her memories were irretrievable. She focused on her father instead, recollections flitting through her mind, pushing further and further into the past, desperate to find her.

_ A little girl of five or six played with a wooden horse on the carpeted floor of her mother’s bedchamber while her father sat writing at his desk by an arched window, a translucent curtain billowing gently in a listless breeze behind him. _

The desk she had removed to a far corner of the library after his brutal death because she couldn’t bear seeing it every morning when she woke. Tamina stared at her father in astonishment. An ordinary memory wasn't so detailed or immersive. So, she'd been given another vision and, like the others, it would probably be more distressing than comforting. She briefly considered fighting it, to drag herself back to the present. Yet, if the Gods allowed her a glimpse of her mother, she’d be grateful. Tamina surrendered to the experience.

_ The child giggled and whispered a secret into the toy’s pointy ear, scooting around to look at her father. _

_ “Papa, come play with me.” _

_ “Of course, sweet. I’m almost done.” _

_ “Papa, may we use your golden soldiers?” _

_ “All right, but in a few moments.” _

_ She hopped up to stand at his elbow with an overdone pout. He sighed and carefully set his inky quill aside. _

_ “Be patient Tamina,” he chided, trying not to smile. _

Demanding. Yes, she’d always been demanding, Tamina thought wryly, drinking in the sight of her father. So young, yet with the dignity of a much older man. A scholar and philosopher, a man of intellect. But he made time for cuddles and silly games too. 

_A door slammed and Tamina’s heart leapt as she beheld her mother stalking toward them, beautiful and regal, stormy grey eyes flashing with irritation._

_ “Mehdi is becoming more difficult every day!” _

_ “What has he done now?” _

_ “He claims our female Guardians are a liability. He wants to end combat training for the girls, to permit them only ceremonial responsibilities and I think he ultimately aims to eliminate priestesses from the order altogether. I outmaneuvered him by asking if this restriction would apply to me and the other _ women _ who will follow me. Odious man!” _

_ Her husband went to her without comment, kneading her shoulders comfortingly. _

_ More relaxed, but still sounding worried she said, “He’s attempting to destabilize my rule because of the changes I intend to make. The Gods do not need us to collapse from fasting to prove our devotion. I wish I could dismiss him as my Second, his growing fanaticism is troubling.” _

The watching Tamina drew in a sharp breath. Mehdi became her own Second when her mother died. They’d tried, but failed to oust him; his support within the priesthood had been too strong. She’d been unaware he held particularly zealous beliefs though. He was definitely hungry for power, continually maneuvering for control, forever thwarted by her father, her Regent. Which most likely provoked his deadly assault on them. But she couldn't bear to think of it and pushed the memory away.

_ Her mother sighed deeply, melting against him and smiled warmly at Tamina’s younger self. “I need a hug from you as well!” The girl ran into her open arms, giggling when her head was engulfed by a large piece of linen she carried over one arm. _

_ “Sorry dear one, I forgot!” Laughing, she whipped the cloth off with a playful flourish and addressed her husband. “Since Mehdi was ranting all morning I had time to finish it. Try it on for me?” _

_ With a knowing grin, he removed his shirt and struggled a bit to pull on the tunic she’d made for him. It had silver embroidery on the collar and was clearly intentionally close-fitting. It suited him very nicely indeed. Her mother smiled smugly, unnecessarily adjusted the high neck, and swept her hands lingeringly over the planes of his chest. _

_ “Thank you, Wife,” he said in a low voice. _

_ Oblivious to the heated look her parents shared, little Tamina tugged on her mother’s sleeve. “Mama, can we go play by the waterfall?” _

_ “A fine idea, dearest. Let’s pilfer a snack from the kitchens on the way!” _

Tamina watched with a bittersweet smile as they went to the door, the girl skipping joyfully ahead of them. Then to Tamina’s utter shock, her mother turned to look directly at her. 

_Face alight with emotion, her eyes searched Tamina’s, "A destiny fulfilled is not an ending, but a beginning," she said, reaching out to caress her cheek._

Tamina came back to herself, lifting a shaking hand to her face. _C_onfused and disconcerted, feeling the trace of her mother’s touch, as real as her own. W_as it a trick of the mind? _

"But a beginning...," she muttered to herself. "What is she trying to tell me? That death is not the end and we’ll be together again? I know this! No, that interpretation is too obvious." 

She wasn't even sure the message, or perhaps lesson, came from the Gods or her mother because she’d often imparted cryptic advice like this. Wisdom that Tamina hadn’t fully understood until much later. Never making it easy. Encouraging her heir, the future Guardian, to think for herself. 

Tamina sighed, letting the puzzle go for the moment and thought about the beautifully happy scene she’d witnessed. At least one thing was obvious. Her parents loved each other and the tunic she made for him was the proof. Tamina remembered now. Remembered watching the Queen at court or in council, performing her endless duties diligently. Always with a length of material in her lap, sewing or embroidering clothing for her family. 

A constant, pure, and simple expression of love.


	7. Chain of Destiny

Tus sat on the narrow camp bed in their uncle’s tent, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, dismayed they hadn’t found what they sought. He’d put aside a few of Nizam’s written records to read later but was ready to admit defeat, already considering ways to negate a royal seal if it had indeed been stolen. Cursing under his breath, Dastan struggled to shove an entirely useless ornamental shield into a traveling crate as Bis idly glanced around at the few larger items still left unpacked. 

“I didn’t know your uncle played the lute,” he commented, reaching down for the instrument which rested against a tent pole. 

Dastan straightened, turning to peer at it intently. “He didn’t.”

“The strings aren’t affixed properly,” Bis noted. 

When he picked it up, the men froze at the decided ‘clunk’ of a heavy object shifting inside the hollow body. Not doubting they’d located the seal at last, Bis held the instrument aloft in triumph, pleased he’d been the one to find it. The sound well of the lute was open, unlike most others which were covered by decorative filigree. However, the round hole was effectively blocked by the strings. 

Both Dastan and Bis flinched when Tus nonchalantly reached out to snap the neck away from its body. It didn’t break but came apart easily, as it was apparently intended to do, loosening the strings to give access. Tus reached inside, hand eagerly scrabbling about.

Disappointment flashed across his face. “It’s only a scroll.” 

It took him a few tries to find the right angle to remove it and he carelessly handed the cracked and frayed roll of papyrus over to Dastan in irritation. Groping around for more, Tus swore softly, tugging a folded parchment out next. But the last foray brought a smile to his lips. His fist emerged, wrapped around a deep red semi-transparent stone. Perfectly round except for the flat base which was intricately carved to stamp the impression of two confronted lions.

“At last! I’ll bring it to Father. Thank you both, this is a great weight off my mind.”

Dastan waved him off. “We’ll finish up here.” Tus threw him an apologetic grimace as he left.

“So what are those?” Bis asked.

At Dastan’s indifferent shrug, Bis took the scroll from him, unrolling it carefully. 

“Look at this, it’s not even writing,” he said, baffled by the mass of wedge-shaped markings on the crumbling papyrus. “More like the tracks of a crazed chicken.” He turned it sideways, squinting. “Or a lizard. Could it be a code?”

“No, an ancient language in a primitive script I think,” Dastan said. “Old Persian maybe. One of the king’s interests is translating such things. It looks similar anyway.” 

Dastan peeled the folded parchment open, wondering if they were meant to go together. He read the first line and his heart stopped. 

_ ‘In Alamut rests the beating heart of all life on Earth, the Sandglass of the Gods.’ _

It was written by his father’s hand.

“Must have been valuable to your uncle, hidden away like that,” Bis said, completely oblivious to Dastan’s shock. “Maybe it'll lead to a fabulous lost treasure!” 

“Bis,” he croaked. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Bis, I have to take this to the palace at once.” 

Hand visibly shaking, Dastan jerked the scroll from his loose grip and blindly strode out of the tent, leaving his confused friend behind. Mind whirling, he went to the royal tent nearby and fell into a chair, staring blankly at the parchment. After a long moment, he forced himself to read it.

_'In Alamut rests the beating heart of all life on Earth, the _[Sandglass?] _of the Gods. An ancient power it is said placed there by the Gods for _[safekeeping? not quite right]. _ As a boy, I heard many such tales and resolved to see the holy city for myself when I was able. _

_In my five and twentieth year the Nobel King, my brother, gave me leave to go. The journey was long and difficult, but as I beheld Alamut, all _[discomfort?]_ was forgotten. I was fortunate to arrive on the eve of a great_ [celebration?] _and fell in easily with the other pilgrims._

_Of the Sandglass_ [odd combination of symbols but undoubtedly correct]_ I can only say the power and beauty of it took my breath and stilled_ [or froze?] _my soul so great and terrible was it. Beyond my ability to describe. _

_Being of a _[curious nature?]_ I asked questions of those around me, and the answers were _[freely given or perhaps easily overheard]._ I learned the glass held the _[Sands of Time?] _and heard the tale of the Gods bringing their wrath down upon us wicked creatures, to _[wipe the world clean?]_ and begin anew. _

_I was _[shocked?]_ to learn the calamity was only prevented by the _[prayer or appeal I think]_ of a young girl who begged for mercy on behalf of us all. A pilgrim told me also of a dagger, given to the child as a _[token or symbol?] _of their trust in her, naming her The Guardian. A sacred covenant with the people of Alamut that continues to this day. That should Alamut fail in _[or perhaps forsake] _this duty the Great Sandstorm will come again._

_Hearing the dagger itself possesses the ability to _[turn back time? this cannot be correct but I can find no better translation] _I unwisely asked after its place of keeping. Before I fully realized my folly, I was seized and taken before the Queen of the realm, a woman whose severe countenance _[chilled? similar symbol to froze] _my blood. She informed me brutally that I would be executed for _[spying?]. _Being able to prove my kinship to the King of Babylon mattered not._

_ Luckily, my men were able to free me through bribes and _[subterfuge? the symbols have faded, a guess based on context]_. __We barely escaped with our lives. _

_You who read this _[in times to come?] _heed my warning. Chase not after legends. Leave Alamut alone.'_

Dastan rubbed a hand over his face, a hard knot settling in the pit of his stomach. _ Father did excellent work_, he thought with bitter irony. _ I wonder if he even remembers it. _

In the months after his wife’s death, he’d feverishly jumped from one project to another to keep his mind occupied, looking for relief. After that, he suffered a long period of sleepless nights and listless depression. The king told them later he recalled little from that time of grief. Only endless misery that slowly eased into sweet sadness. 

_ Well, I’m not going to ask Father about this. Tamina wouldn’t appreciate me reminding him of secrets that are best left forgotten. _

“Tamina…” Dastan groaned, fist closing savagely around the damning evidence of his family’s complicity in all that had befallen Alamut. He only eased his grip when he felt the scroll begin to crack in two. 

Nizam chanced upon the legend of the Sands years ago. It wasn’t a coincidence, he realized. _ My father, his brother, and me. _ Fate. Destiny. He abhorred the very idea; appalled that their actions, intentionally malign or not, flowed from one to the other in a horribly logical causality.

But he shouldn’t forget the Hassansin who was once a priest of the Temple as Tamina said. Dastan could imagine Nizam coming across the man somehow and convincing him to reveal the Guardian’s secrets. The only question was why the man would betray his people and his Gods. And would he do it again.

Dastan summoned the stoic calm he called upon before going into battle. _ Tamina needs to know. And me?… I need to talk about what happened and she’s the only one who’ll ever understand. _

He feared it might ruin them, but the time had come to tell her. 

\---

He found Tamina sitting on the floor of her sitting room, an empty trunk nearby, surrounded by a mess of pretty dresses, games, and toys. She held a cleverly hewn horse in her lap while meticulously laying out a battlefield of tiny soldiers made of gold, a dreamy expression on her face. Absorbed, tranquil and relaxed, it was another new look on her. She glanced up, flushing a bit when she saw him, her smile shy but welcoming. Dastan felt a pang of bittersweet pleasure at the sight._ Just when she’s beginning to open up to me… _

On the ride back from camp, he’d come up with a plan of sorts. The first step was getting her out of the palace, to ensure privacy and prevent interruptions. Somewhere she could scream at him without drawing attention. The best place he could think of was the secret entrance to the catacombs; although not exactly comfortable, it fulfilled the requirements. 

As an awkward silence grew between them, her smile began to fade. “Charming soldiers,” he mumbled for something to say. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, just remembering.” Smile gone now, she said hesitantly, “You seem troubled Prince Dastan.”

Too late, he tried to smooth his features, but the crease between his expressive brows remained. Her protective shield was back again and with it, Dastan’s frustration. Both with her and himself.

Giving up the pretense at a normal conversation, he said abruptly, “Walk with me.” It was not a request. 

Tamina frowned. “Why?”

“Do I need a reason?” he snapped in exasperation. 

Dastan took a deep, calming breath. It wasn’t her fault he’d lied by omission about the most important aspect of her life. That he feared how she’d take his confession. _ My ‘other’ Tamina would probably try to slice me open. Have to make sure there aren’t any sharp instruments to hand_. Perversely, the thought cheered him. Luckily a reasonable excuse to coax her into going with him came to mind. 

“Since I’m at court now and not on campaign, I need to purchase new clothing. I hoped you’d show me around the market.” 

She eyed the ripped shoulder of his tunic. She supposed it was the sort of thing an affianced couple did together; the chaste intimacy of choosing the garments her betrothed would wear. It sounded rather nice. 

Dastan held out a hand to pull her to her feet. With his support, she stepped out of the remnants of her childhood, all her little soldiers toppling under the sweep of her skirts. Glancing up, she caught his winsome half-smile.

Tugging on her hand to pull her closer, he murmured, “Your enemy never stood a chance.” 

His nearness brought back the heady sensations of their kiss, her thoughts going a bit fuzzy at the memory. Tamina reached out, hesitantly fingering the torn linen of his shirt. 

“Did I do this?” She sounded vaguely horrified. 

“What? Oh no, not you!” He grinned, taken with the notion of her ripping off his clothes. “Garsiv’s stallion. A handsome but ill-tempered beast. He enjoys provoking me. I’ll take you to meet him sometime.”

“Because we have so much in common?” she asked dryly.

Dastan snorted a laugh. “Indeed! It pains me to admit, but Aksh _ is _ the finest horse in Persia and worth a visit. Not today though.” He squeezed her hand. “You’ll come?” 

“Very well,” she said with one of her ‘almost’ smiles. “But I must first inform Speaker Ikram I won’t be able to attend the council meeting this afternoon.”

On their way, they looked in on Ikram at his place of work. He was unusually cooperative, much to Tamina’s surprise. 

But as they were leaving, he asked, “Are you going alone?” 

Dastan stiffened, preparing for an argument. “It’s not permitted?” 

He was annoyed with himself for not anticipating guards or a chaperone getting in the way. Used to Tamina’s independence, it never occurred to him that here, in her own city, she’d be oppressively watched over.

“Of course it is Highness. I doubt not our sovereign will be safe in your care.” Out of the corner of his eye, Dastan saw Tamina bristle. “I only wondered how you'll carry your purchases without a servant. Might I suggest picking up a basket from the kitchens and perhaps also take a bite to eat with you? A shared meal under the stars would be agreeable, don’t you think?” Ikram said mildly. 

Wondering how he'd managed to get on his good side, Dastan was tempted to give the older man a conspiratorial wink. The Speaker undoubtedly understood how to woo a woman. 

“Good idea!” Dastan said, urging her out of the room with a distracting hand to the curve of her waist. Tamina glanced back at Ikram over her shoulder, eyes narrowing at his satisfied expression. The Speaker waved back mischievously.

\---

Entering the collonaded market square, Dastan looked around with interest, taking in the lively spectacle swirling about them. He’d always found markets engaging; they were all different, suffused with a unique atmosphere. Alamut’s was unusually fragrant. A mixture of savory foodstuffs, sweet perfume, aromatic oils, and pungent smoke. He was also struck by the wide variety of goods for sale. For an isolated backwater, they were obviously well-connected to distant lands. 

Even at this late hour, business was brisk due to the influx of several thousand Persian soldiers with time on their hands and coin to spend. A few of his own men were there, hanging around a raucous tavern. They refrained from approaching their Captain, however, seeing he was occupied with a lovely woman. But he received quite a few leers and crude hand gestures behind Tamina’s back. Dastan stifled a rueful laugh, torn between exasperation and amusement. 

Without warning, Tamina let go of his hand and Dastan immediately lost her in the crush of people. Perturbed, he turned on the spot scanning the crowd when he felt her tug impatiently on his arm. 

“Honeyed almonds! They’re delicious, Prince Dastan. Here, try one.” 

He blinked as she popped one into his mouth before he was ready, watching him with anticipation. Dastan’s eyes widened at the rich combination of sweetness and spice that brought a slight burn to his tongue. Tamina smiled smugly at his reaction, dragging him over to a man sitting cross-legged on a dusty carpet with tall reed baskets surrounding him on all sides. 

“Arjun’s secret is to lightly sprinkle the nuts with a mixture of white pepper and ginger, among other things,” she said, handing the seller a gold coin. 

“This payment will go far, Highness,” the man warned with a grin.

“The almonds will go quickly and with great pleasure! We’ll take some with us now and please send the rest up to the palace. Oh, and ask your aunt to serve some to King Sharaman. Your father will like them, yes?” she asked.

“Uh mmm,” Dastan mumbled incoherently, mouth full of the almonds he’d been wolfing down. 

When she rolled her eyes, he gleefully devoured another handful, pleased to elicit one of her husky chuckles. As they strolled from one stall to the next, sampling wares and chatting with the merchants, she became more and more effervescent. Her enjoyment was infectious and with only a slight twinge of guilt, Dastan decided to savor the moment, deferring the coming confrontation a little longer. 

When they passed a stall with turban cloths, Dastan asked cautiously, “Do I need those?”

“No.” Tamina eyed his thick, dark hair. “Turbans don’t become you. You lack the dignity to carry it off.” 

Dastan tried to look offended but smirked instead. He knew he was too rough around the edges; his brothers told him so often enough. 

Her head tilted in appraisal, she added, “Scruffy and disheveled but still I prefer it. Even with these ridiculous beads you wear,” she said archly, flicking one with a finger.

“They were woven into my hair by a very pretty, green-eyed girl.” 

He paused for effect, gratified by a frown of displeasure she couldn’t quite hide. 

“Tus’ eldest daughter, Darya, who will soon be 7 years old. I’m her favorite,” he said with unmistakable pride, laughing at Tamina’s disgruntled glare.

The next vendor displayed a rich array of tunics, kaftans, and trousers. Dastan put down their purchases to give the clothing proper consideration. The sprightly proprietress was immensely pleased with her royal customers and did her best to act the part with fawning courtesy, but Dastan’s informality soon reassured the woman. Relieved, she dealt with him with brisk efficiency and soon ascertained his preference for muted colors and sober adornments to bring him exactly what he wanted. Dastan looked to Tamina now and then, wordlessly asking her opinion, but she could only agree with his choices; he knew well what suited him: functional, well-made, and masculine.

In the middle of a multicolored pile nearby, Tamina’s attention was caught by a simple tunic of lapis blue, a cooly intense shade that perfectly matched his eyes. Her hands swept over the soft cotton, shaking it out to check the size. Curious, she held it up against his chest and felt her knees go weak.

“Oh my!” the clothier blurted.

“It’s too much,” Tamina muttered to herself.

“That's what the Queen always said whenever they tried to dress me in blue. I don’t understand.”

Tamina’s lips quirked. “If you wear this to Court, every woman will likely swoon. What chaos that would cause!” 

Dastan’s brows rose at her unexpected and rather outrageous compliment, a playful leer stealing over his face. Without releasing her gaze, he handed the shirt over to be included with the others.

“Only for you.”

Then a strange bleakness flickered in Dastan’s eyes and he abruptly turned away. For a golden hour, he’d forgotten. _It’s selfish to enjoy her company like this, _he reproached himself. _To tease and laugh and _flirt. He fought down a cold dread that rose out of nowhere, threatening to choke him. Cursing inwardly, Dastan resolved to carry out his original plan which was supposed to begin with a proper meal. He knew neither of them would feel like eating later. 

After paying generously for his new garments and a ceramic lantern the proprietress helpfully lit for him, they left the bustling market behind. As twilight darkened and stars began to appear in a clear night sky, Dastan led them to the north side of the city, heading to a secluded place he remembered passing through in the erased time. After a short stroll, they came to a deserted neighborhood, abandoned and falling into ruin. Purposeful neglect he guessed, to discourage anyone from coming here and looking closer. 

Unsettled and distracted by the baffling shift in Dastan’s mood, Tamina didn’t notice where they were going until he ducked into a narrow passageway. She was surprised to find herself at the edge of an overgrown but enchanting garden. The heavy scent of jasmine hung in the air as she took in the bent and broken fruit trees, dense shrubby thickets, and a wildflower meadow that partly obscured the haphazard remains of ancient statues and fallen columns. 

Dastan forged a path through the knee-high grass and flowers whose bright colors were fading in the dim light. After a moment he realized Tamina hadn’t followed him and was still standing under the arched portal. He walked back to her, glum and disappointed, assuming she didn’t approve. 

“You don’t like it.”

“No. I mean, yes I do. The garden is lovely, how did you ever find it?”

Dastan didn’t answer. He’d tell her no more half-truths. 

“Over there is a pleasant place to sit,” he suggested instead, pointing to an empty plinth framed by a tangle of climbing plants.

Looking up at him with an odd uncertainty, Tamina nervously shifted the bundles she carried in her arms. 

Finally, she asked in a small voice, “What about snakes?” 

“You're afraid of snakes!?”

“Not afraid. Wary,” she said stiffly, chin coming up, expecting mocking ridicule or at least teasing. But he stared at her with such intensity, she became flustered. 

“Alright, yes,” she admitted, lowering her gaze. “I was almost bitten by a viper once.” 

Remembering how she’d calmly turned that giant serpent on its master to save his life, Dastan shook his head, astounded. Pride and sheer nerve. She’d never said a word during their hellish journey through the wilderness. 

“Vipers will give a clear warning if we get too close. I could carry you,” he offered, sweeping his fingers lightly through her fringe of silky hair and down her cheek.

Tamina hesitated, rather tempted by his suggestion, but chose to maintain her dignity. 

“Just make sure they strike you first,” she said brusquely.

In a sudden rush of fondness, he tweaked her nose and pulled her along before she could scold him. Dastan grinned briefly at her audible huff of annoyance, his mood shifting back to lighthearted mirth.

Following his earlier trail, they carefully made their way over the uneven ground, Dastan giving a supporting hand to help her negotiate awkward obstructions. His unerring courtesy easing her reluctance, Tamina began to enjoy the soothing rustle of dry grass as they passed and the sensual drag on her skirts that felt like wading through deep water. A place of such melancholy beauty, it inspired a dreamy contentment. Sighing with pleasure, she felt the garden had been waiting for them, for Dastan to find it for her. 

She’d stopped to admire the sweeping brilliance of the starry sky when he unceremoniously lifted her onto the shoulder-high plinth, effortlessly climbing up after her. Surprised, Tamina stepped to the side, tripping over a marble foot, the only remains of the statue that once stood there. Ignoring Dastan’s hand that shot out to steady her, she peered over the edge to find the delicately carved faces of lovers gazing up at her from their lush bed of flowers, frozen in an eternal embrace.

After laying out the food and arranging one of his new tunics for her to sit on, Dastan looked up at her with a kind of boyish expectation. _ He seems so happy to be with me, _ Tamina thought in astonishment_. _She didn’t understand why she suddenly felt so giddy, so free. But in that brief moment, she was no longer a Princess, High Priestess, or even The Guardian. She was just Tamina. 

With a mischievous smile, Dastan drew her down to sit beside him and handed her a honey cake, making her laugh even as she swatted his arm in retribution. Successfully distracting her from further introspection, they set about devouring their meal in easy companionship. 

At length, relaxed and sated, Tamina wiped her hand clean of the greasy slice of roast mutton she’d just eaten and watched him meticulously pick out the succulent kernels of a pomegranate one by one. Thinking of their visit to the palace kitchens earlier that day, she assumed Cook added the fruit to their basket just for him. Dastan had walked around, stealing tidbits and giving fulsome compliments and by the time their meal had been packed, Tamina found him surrounded by a chattering crowd. Somehow his vitality filled the room, drawing people to him without effort. Just as with the market-sellers, his manner with the kitchen staff had been open and friendly, attentive, and respectful; skillfully putting everyone at ease. 

_ An unusual dichotomy, _ she mused. _ Prince and commoner. _For the first time, Tamina found herself intensely curious about him. 

“Dastan means ‘trickster’ does it not? An unpromising name to give a child,” she probed with the sharp directness she wielded like a sword.

He threw her an amused glance, relieved that particular tactic didn’t fluster him like it used to. 

“It might be a pet name. In any case, it's the only one I remember.” 

He shrugged, brushing off his tragic past. Blighted by loss and sorrow just like her own. And worse, if she correctly inferred his childhood circumstances from the few loose comments he and his family made - that he’d lived by his wits in the slums of Nasaf from a young age. She wondered how long he’d had to survive on his own.

“The king considered changing it, officially at least, into something more impressive, but my uncle-” He broke off, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “Nizam reminded him my name also means ‘legend’ or ‘hero’ in other lands. So…”

She rested her chin on her bent knees, scrutinizing him under her lashes. “That does befit the ‘Lion of Persia’.” 

Dastan grimaced, embarrassed by the accolade. _ I’m not _ that _ full of myself. _ Falling silent, he reflected that _ her _ name suited her extremely well. Tamina meant ‘powerful and brave’, but he couldn't admit knowing that about her. 

_ Not yet, but soon, _ he thought morosely. _ She’s going to tear up the betrothal contract and throw it in my face. And then she’ll kick me out of her city on my ass. _ Dastan sighed in resignation. _ Better get it over with. _

"Finished?"

At her nod, Dastan leapt down from their pedestal, raising his arms to receive her.

“We’re leaving everything behind?” 

“I'll pick up later.” He beckoned with an inviting gesture. “Jump!”

Taking a deep breath, Tamina did as he bid, falling with a stifled yelp into his open arms, rather awkwardly and ineptly she feared. Disconcerted, she tried to squirm out of his grasp but he shook his head, tightening his arms around her. Tamina raised a questioning brow.

But all he said was, “Don’t forget the lantern.”

As she held the light aloft to illuminate their way, he effortlessly carried her through to the other side of the garden. His encompassing strength made her feel unexpectedly delicate. Tamina surreptitiously allowed herself to revel in the novel experience, schooling her expression so he wouldn’t see how much she liked it. 

When Dastan strode purposefully toward a covered portico, something stirred in Tamina’s memory, a place her mother had shown her shortly before she’d died. Puzzled, she turned to study his profile noticing how his jaw was set in an uncompromising line and his lips compressed into a grim frown. 

“Dastan?” 

When he turned into a seemingly blocked alley and unerringly approached the well-disguised entrance to the catacombs, her stomach clenched in sudden alarm. 

“Dastan!” she shrieked, struggling from his grasp and backing away, eyes wide in shock. 

He grabbed her wrist, afraid her cry would draw the attention of the men patrolling on the city wall below them who were well within earshot. 

“Be quiet!” he ground out with stony command, pulling her close with implacable force. “You know where we’re going. Who do you think showed me the way?” 

Tamina gaped at him. _ What does he mean? That he's been here before and I brought him? _The nightmare she’d had of falling to her death in the Sandglass chamber flashed through her mind.

“Dastan.” 

This time she said his name as a broken plea, begging him to deny the obvious.

“It got as bad as you can imagine,” he said harshly. “Except the world didn’t end.” 

His steely determination crumbled for a split second, letting her see the anguish he was doing his best to control.

“We can’t speak of this out in the open. Come with me. Please.”

Stumbling on shaking legs, Tamina followed him, her thoughts in turmoil. Feeling like she was about to be sick.


	8. Truth and Consequences

_I'm such a fool! He gave_ _the dagger back with such guileless charm, I should have realized. I was just so relieved, so grateful. So naive... _

Sitting down weakly on the stairs of the moldering antechamber, Tamina wrapped her arms tightly around her body as if chilled to the bone, her fists clenched in the fabric of her gown. Watching Dastan pace back and forth, her mind cleared as bitter shame and self-reproof effectively counteracted her spiraling panic. Regaining control by a concerted act of will, she became as jagged and hard as the broken bits of masonry littering the floor of the dusty room. 

“Dammit to hell!” Dastan burst out, making her jump. "I don't know where to start!"

With sudden violence, he threw a loose stone against the panel that sealed the unopened entrance to the passageways under the city. He turned back to her in apology and was disconcerted to be confronted by stoic silence. He’d expected her to spit with outrage, demanding answers with fire and fury, giving him no chance to speak in his defense. Instead, she waited with dangerous calm, her unwavering gaze boring into him. Dastan drew himself up, unconsciously mirroring her icy composure. He stared at the ground, gathering his thoughts, and started talking.

“I first met you four weeks ago.”

His terse statement shook Tamina to the core, but only a harsh inhalation of breath gave away her distress. _ Four weeks!? _ Dark foreboding settled over her, a suffocating weight that made it difficult to breathe. 

“Decades ago, when they were still boys, a lion attacked my father and his beloved little brother Nizam saved his life,” Dastan continued with dark irony, pausing to let the oddly unrelated remark hang in the air for a moment.

“As you know, my uncle manipulated us into attacking Alamut. We took the city, conquered and subjugated you and your people, giving Nizam free rein to do as he pleased. He intended to pierce the sandglass with the dagger, reversing time to remake his life. He wanted to go back and let the lion kill his brother and become king himself.”

Dastan pulled the scroll and parchment out from the dark red sash tied around his waist. 

“It all started with this I think. I found them earlier today, hidden among his belongings. Nizam discovered the power of The Sands and dagger long ago.”

He sat down and handed them over, balancing the lamp on his knee to illuminate the yellowed page. He watched her face carefully as she read, her lips compressed into a thin line and suppressed a wince when she raised her eyes to meet his, hard and accusing. But still she said nothing, so he gritted his teeth and plowed on. 

“Also, Nizam had help from a den of Hassansins. Seven extremely deadly soldiers who followed his orders out of loyalty or maybe profit, I don’t know. These killers were usually raised in death from a young age. But we found out one of them used to be a priest of the High Temple. A Guardian.”

Tamina blanched. “How do you know?” she demanded. But before Dastan could answer she stopped him with an impatient shake of her head. “No. Just… tell me from the beginning.”

Dastan nodded, took a deep breath, and talked until he grew hoarse and his heart grew heavy. He gave a succinct version of events, factual and unemotional. But speaking about those he lost brought his grief surging back to the surface. Especially her death. By the end, he couldn’t hide the quaver in his voice. 

“I came back in the middle of the battle, my army about to storm the palace. The first time was a bloodbath. I couldn't let it happen again so I confronted Nizam and luckily my brothers had my back.”

The small chamber echoed faintly and it took her a moment to realize he’d finished. 

“Is that all?” 

At his nod, she abruptly stood and bolted up the stairs. He froze for a second, unable to comprehend she intended to leave without a word. No pointed questions, no heated discussion, no opportunity to give reassurances, or even apologize. No way to tell if she believed him. 

“Tamina, wait!”

Dastan bound up the stairs to stop her, grasping lightly with a hand to her elbow. She wrenched her arm from his hold with such force, he fell back a few steps. She shook with the effort it was taking to maintain her self-control, that she refused to let him see her break. The rigid determination on her face told him as much. Helpless and defeated, he gave up. 

“Take the lantern.”

She snatched it from his hand, fleeing down the narrow alley and into the gloomy street. Blinded by a waking nightmare of blood, storm, and death that flashed through her mind’s eye. Ears ringing with her own voice crying out his name as she fell into nothingness.

Heart empty and hollow, Dastan followed after her, making sure she got back to the palace safely before returning to the garden to collect their belongings. Gulping down the last of the wine, he lay on the cold plinth, staring blankly at the night sky until the stars faded with the coming of the dawn. 

\---

Tamina paced around her chambers, chaotic thoughts lurching from one horrific truth to another. _ That such a cataclysm could befall us! _ She tried to dispassionately consider the chain of events as he’d described but her vivid imagination dragged her into a maelstrom of confused visions and incoherent terrors. 

Abruptly coming up against the railing of her balcony, she gazed up at the blazing, starry sky, as riotous and scattered as her mind. She stood there trembling. Weak, defenseless, and lost. 

Tamina gave herself a mental shake. “What will self-pity accomplish?” she muttered into the darkness. “Concentrate on more important matters!”

The traitor priest first and foremost. She forced herself to focus on him, faceless and unknown. _ When had he deserted us and why? Did anyone remember him? Because I certainly don’t. _

An hour before sunrise, exhausted by useless speculation, she stood unmoving, replaying the moment of her death in the lost time over and over. Then a group of chattering women entered, startling her out of numb inertia.

“It is near the appointed hour of King Sharaman’s departure, Highness.”

She’d completely forgotten. Her shoulders drooped a little under an obligation she had neither the will nor peace of mind, to carry out. 

“Very well.” 

Tamina gave herself over to her attendants. Being stripped, washed, redressed, coiffed, and painted, the endless primping unexpectedly helped calm her nerves. It reminded her how she used to cope as a young ruler when being dressed felt like donning armour; preparing her for combat. By the time Ravan came in, Tamina judged she was once again capable of performing the ceremonial duties of hostess. _ As long as Dastan keeps his distance. I’m not ready to deal with him yet. _

But Ravan took one look at her and said with sharp concern, “Something has happened.”

Tamina glowered at her Second, unreasonably annoyed at her uncanny ability to read people. Especially her. She sighed and nodded once in acknowledgment but waited until the servants left before replying. 

“There is more to the Persian’s assault than we realized. Prince Dastan...” She felt a vague ache of conflicted emotion saying his name out loud. “I must call a full Guardian council. It will be necessary for Prince Dastan to attend.” 

Ravan’s normally serene expression broke into a worried frown.

Tamina crossed the room, picking up the splintered scroll along with its translation. “Please take these to the keeper of the Annals. I want her opinion.”

“Should we prepare for more trouble?” Ravan asked, examining the scroll curiously.

“No, all is well.” _ Now, _ Tamina thought grimly. “What the prince has to tell will cause more upheaval and discussion but I can't say more right now.” 

Tamina stopped herself from wiping a hand over her face in fatigue, narrowly preserving her perfect mask of kohl, rouge, and dusted gold.

“After the king leaves, I need the rest of the day alone to think. Will you arrange a guard so I won’t be disturbed? By anyone,” she added, thinking of one unruly man in particular.

Ravan gave her sovereign a last penetrating look before leaving to do as she was asked.

Tamina met King Sharaman at the door connecting their apartments. Walking together to the crypt to collect Nizam’s body, they fell into polite conversation even though they were both distracted by their own thoughts. The king warmly told her that he hoped to return to Alamut soon under happier circumstances, making it clear he’d be delighted to welcome her as his daughter if she ultimately chose to wed Dastan. She appreciated the careful respect in which he framed the comment, but could only summon a wan smile in reply.

Before she was quite prepared, the princes caught up with them. She pointedly ignored Dastan and, thankfully, he didn’t push her this time. But she could feel the heavy weight of his searching gaze following her every step. Tension steadily stole over her, gripping her like a vice until she almost screamed at him to stop.

In silence, they followed the soldiers carrying Nizam’s sarcophagus to the royal caravan waiting outside. As soon as the Sharaman took formal leave of her, she stepped away, observing the men say their good-byes. 

Once again, Dastan embraced his father with uninhibited emotion. Only now Tamina understood. In the soft morning light, Dastan’s gaze met hers. No playful smirk or bashful grin hid his pain. His haunted eyes, like an open wound, pierced her heart. Trembling, she looked away, longing to escape, but trapped by duty until the king departed.

Sharaman mounted and looked down at his sons with pride and affection. “Don’t worry about me, Children,” he said, softly chiding them for the concern he saw on their faces. “Take care of each other and we’ll be together again soon!” 

Tamina waited impatiently until the king passed through the gate before rushing up the grand staircase, retreating into the palace. Dastan sadly watched her go. 

“What’s wrong? Did you fuck up already?” Garsiv asked with fond exasperation.

Dastan winced. “Princess Tamina might soon demand my immediate departure.”

With a sympathetic grimace, Tus said, “She won’t. At least,” he amended, “not until the treaty is signed.”

Dastan nodded. Tus was almost always correct about diplomatic matters. “How long?” 

“Two or three days. But I could come up with an excuse to delay things.”

“No. I don’t want to play political games with her.” Dastan shrugged in resignation. “I’ll work with the men on the inner gate today,” he told his brothers, hoping his despondent uncertainty would be eased by exhaustion.

Bis stepped forward from where he’d been unobtrusively listening. “I’ll join you.”

Tus glanced at Garsiv who gripped Dastan bracingly by the shoulder. “We’ll all go! And may the sun burn discontent from our hearts and minds until there’s nothing left of us but sore muscle and sweat!”

\---

Tamina realized she should feel relieved. The nightmares and visions the Gods sent her were true but weren’t premonitions of an impending disaster as she’d feared. It was over and done with.

Listlessly wandering around her chambers in the late afternoon heat, the raw distress of the night before had lessened but left her feeling sickeningly disoriented. She tried to eat, but food turned her stomach. Attempted to sleep, but her constant anxiety prevented rest.

So she clung to anger. Justified or not, it was easier than the turmoil of conflicting emotions that threatened to drown her. Her rage was diffuse and mutable, however, never sticking to one target for long. Of course, Nizam's guilt was straightforward and clear-cut. As were his pet Hassansins. A dark, threatening shadow that weighed heavily on her peace of mind. 

But self-reproach plagued her as well. Hesitating before sending the dagger away to the Guardian Temple and being stupidly oblivious when Dastan returned it. She did blame him for not confessing immediately; suspecting he considered not telling her at all. Dastan’s tender smile invaded her thoughts. The visions and his obvious fondness for her implied a connection between them that was deep and real. There were things he’d left unsaid. 

“He knows me,” she told the empty room.

He’d had her at a disadvantage from the start. Grappling with an uncomfortable vulnerability she’d never felt before, Tamina wondered if he’d been actively manipulating her. Just the idea that he could, made her blood boil. A grim smile curled her lips. She looked forward to confronting him about it, a bit of her self-confidence returning. 

Tamina turned her attention to the most important actors in the crisis: the Gods. Shaping human destiny to suit their purposes. Giving Dastan a new family. That particular family. And taking hers away. _What was their intention? Did the Gods orchestrate the whole fiasco as some kind of test? Had they hoped Alamut would succeed or fail? _

She rubbed her eyes wearily. Second-guessing the Gods was pointless. Instead, she focused with deliberate analysis on her visions. The first was clear enough, falling to her death exactly as Dastan described it. _Was it given to me to prove he spoke the truth or for some other reason?_

The sandstorm vision was strange and illogical. A wistful tenderness had stolen over his face as he described sheltering from the storm, talking honestly with each other for the first time. But her vision had diverged considerably from reality, portraying an intimate scene of romantic love and ardent embraces. 

She suddenly gasped, recalling the horrid ending. The masked man clad in chain armour wielding an ax. _Was he the Hassansin priest, their only remaining enemy?_ _At least I’ll recognize him this time! _With a disgruntled snort, she sat heavily onto a floor cushion. Finding herself next to the low table where they'd left her midday meal hours ago, Tamina forced herself to eat a little and considered the vision of her parents. 

“Why that moment?” she wondered aloud. “What makes it significant?” 

She puzzled over her mother’s cryptic words. _‘A destiny fulfilled is not an ending, but a beginning.’_ With a flash of insight, Tamina understood exactly what it meant. She felt a sickening rush of guilt rise up to choke her, unconsciously grasping at her throat in reaction. 

The message was meant for Dastan. His destiny. His trial to overcome, his grief to bear. He had emerged triumphant but at a truly terrible cost. A warrior, a man of valor and courage, unable to prevent the deaths of every person he loved. His father and brothers, his best friend, even his unworthy uncle. _ And me._ _ All of us falling in blood and terror before his eyes. _

Without hesitation, she went to him. 

Dastan was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking as lost and miserable as she felt. Head jerking up when he heard her footsteps, his eyes widened in disbelief. 

“Tamina?” he whispered in an uneven voice. As she came to him, his expression flickered, becoming set and hard as if preparing himself for a painful blow.

Not knowing what to say, she reached out to smooth the crease from between his thick brows and drew soft circles over his temples, his hair coiling like heavy silk around her fingers. 

His mouth parted slightly on a soft, surprised gasp of breath. “I’m sorry-” he blurted. 

She interrupted with a finger to his lips. Talking was not what they needed. Tamina lay her hand along his jaw, raspy stubble against her palm and he closed his eyes, melting into her touch. She pulled him gently into her arms, stroking his back and the nape of his neck. Dastan’s head dropped to burrow into her side, his silent tears seeping through her gown, wetting her skin.

He looked up at her, long, dark lashes spiky and moist. Eyes luminescent with the sheen of tears. A look of wonder on his face as she wiped them from his cheeks. 

Dastan let out a ragged sigh, falling back to lie down and pulled her with him. In unspoken agreement, they settled themselves in his bed. Her head nestled in the crook of his neck, his arms loosely wrapped around her. He fell asleep almost instantly. Tamina had only a moment to appreciate how strange yet natural it felt to be held so intimately before the rhythm of his breathing and steady heartbeat lulled her to sleep.


	9. Awakening

_ He struggled desperately to pull her up. Arms, shoulders, and back burning with the effort. Consumed by panic, he’d never felt so helpless. He couldn’t lose her too. Not her. _

_ Tamina’s tremulous smile was calm and sad as she looked up at him, trying to be reassuring. But he saw the terror in her eyes. She let go, twisting her wrist out of his grasp. Agony sliced through him as she slipped through his fingers, crying his name as she fell. _

_ “Dastan!” she called again, but this time she sounded gently insistent. _

“Dastan, wake up!”

His eyes flew open to see her hovering above him, ebony hair falling around them like a curtain, shrouding the warm lamplight that still burned in the corner of his room. Mind clouded with lingering despair, he acted without thought, surging up to drag her into his arms. His open mouth against her neck, chest heaving to take in jagged gulps of air, breathing her in. An overwhelming surge of relief flooded him, instantly transforming into need. 

He took her lips, mindlessly plundering her mouth, demanding hands roaming over her body. Thoughts scrambling into a driving blur interrupted only by sensation, his control broken. Nothing but desperate hunger remained. He was hard and reckless, rutting into her, sliding deliciously against her hip through the thin barrier of their clothing. Tamina clung weakly to his chest, shivering, and he suddenly realized what he was doing to her, beyond caring if she wanted this or not. Dastan jerked away clumsily, almost falling out of bed. 

“Forgive me-” His apology came out choked and rough.

Breathing hard, her eyes dark and molten, Tamina clutched the front of his open tunic to stop him. Pulling him down on top of her, her hips arched to grind against him. Dastan groaned, letting his weight fall on her, lips grazing over her jaw to her throat, matching her undulating rhythm. She clutched at his hips, writhing under him and gasped in surprise when her core met his hardness, a jolt of pleasure lancing through them both. He raised his head to find her face flushed pink and a hammering pulse in her throat, her parted lips begging to be kissed. Aroused to a fever pitch.

A burning need to see her lose all inhibition overcame him. To watch her come undone. To make her mask fall away and her defenses crumble.

Breaking away, Dastan shifted to the side to lay next to her, smiling at her frustrated whine. With slow deliberation, he drew her leg over his hip and gathered the hem of her gown in a fist, rucking it up to her waist, baring her to the balmy night. Forcing himself not to dwell on her nakedness, he cradled her face in his hand, roughened palm on her cheek, a thumb sweeping across her tremulous lower lip. Needing her acquiescence before he dared to go any further, he tilted her chin up to make her look at him. Waiting. Searching for reluctance or permission or… something.

“Tamina…,” he said thickly in an unspoken question.

She smiled.

Pure, raw emotion filled his eyes and he pressed a slow, consuming kiss to her lips. Seeking. Pursuing. Exploring. Tamina twined her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Their kiss, unhurried but intense, dragged them deeper and deeper into sweet oblivion. 

Lightheaded and reeling, Dastan strove to keep himself under control, intent on pleasing her above all else. He splayed a hand over the womanly curves of her stomach, his breath catching to feel the silky warmth of her skin. Tracing the dip of her waist, the swell of her hip, the crease of her thigh.

Fingertips running delicately through her dark curls, he stroked a single finger along her opening, parting her folds. A low groan escaping him when he felt her wet heat. Eyes flying open at the sensual onslaught, she uttered a husky, inarticulate cry of astonishment, just catching a glimpse of Dastan’s brazen grin before he took her mouth again.

Tamina quivered under his touch, hips rocking against his palm. Dastan’s slick fingers circled over her, the sweet pressure making her moan. Slow and light at first, his fingers danced over her, dipping just inside to give her a tantalizing taste of fullness that made her ache for more. She put her hand over his when he moved with more forceful urgency. To feel for herself what he was doing to her. To share in the discovery. 

Panting with the pleasure and heat expanding through her body, Tamina couldn't hold their kiss any longer. She curled into his side, mouth hot on his neck, whimpering against his skin. And froze. Her body taut as a bowstring, holding her breath as rapture surged through her in wave after wave, leaving her shaking in his arms. Dastan stroked her gently with only a whisper of touch until the tremors passed and she relaxed against him, exhaling a dazed laugh. 

“Ah, Tamina,” he whispered, bringing their entwined fingers, slippery and wet, to his lips. “My beautiful, beautiful girl.”

He felt her eyelashes flutter against his cheek and with a drowsy yawn, she stretched languidly. Snuggling closer, she gave him a lazy kiss just below his ear. Dastan hugged her tighter, savoring the moment, an irrepressible grin on his face. He felt her body surrender to sleep and ignored his own with difficulty. Hard, throbbing, and exquisitely uncomfortable, but he gloried in it. For the first time since he came back, he felt utterly content.

\---

When he woke again, she was gone.

Dastan groaned as he sat up, blinking against the bright sunlight, gloomily convinced for a second it had been a dream. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, grimacing at the sticky crust of dried sweat, tears, and stubble that coated his skin. But then he caught sight of a telltale blur of ochre and gold on his palm, marked by her paint. 

He sighed, sinking into the sweet memory of finding shelter in her arms. She’d been so compassionate and giving, offering a tender solace that felt almost like love. His thoughts drifted to the aftermath of his nightmare, one of many that had been plaguing him. Deeply ashamed of his vile behavior, even though it overtook him by pure instinct. Waking in a cold sweat night after night, shaking in reaction, every time he longed for her. But last night she'd been with him. Just as he needed her to be. 

Dastan couldn't bring himself to regret it, remembering how she'd moaned his name as pleasure took her, the fierce radiance of her passion. Tamina had given him much more than he expected. Or deserved. Dragging himself out of bed to take a bath, he wondered glumly why she left and worried about his reception when he saw her again.

Wearing nothing but a bath sheet wrapped low over his hips, he returned to find Tamina lounging in his bed eating an apple. He stared at her, lovely and fresh, asking himself dazedly if he'd ever get used to her beauty. _ Give a man some warning! _ he almost complained but thought better of it, closing his mouth with a snap. It was only then he realized he'd been gaping at her like an idiot.

Dastan felt a rush of heat as her gaze swept over him in cool appraisal, a challenging look in her eye. Warily, he considered her apparent nonchalance. Relaxing in a man's bedchamber when the man in question was dripping wet and naked. He cleared his throat and put on an easy-going smile even though his thoughts were becoming dangerously carnal. 

“Good morning.” 

“It’s past midday,” Tamina said with a quirk of her lips. “Did you sleep well?”

“Better than I have in a long while.” 

He took a chance, testing if their unexpected intimacy was the beginning of a new rapport between them. That she would be more open with him now. 

“Thank you for... well, for last night. It was... It helped.”

“Yes _ it was, _ wasn’t it,” she said dryly, hiding a smile by taking another bite of the apple.

He searched her face, frowning to see red blotches on her neck left by his stubble. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself to take the consequences of his latest failure head-on. 

“I’m sorry I let my feelings get the best of me and… accost you.”

Tamina’s teasing smile disappeared. “There may be things you should apologize for Dastan,” she murmured with earnest sincerity, “but last night isn’t one of them.” 

Dastan nodded, throat tight, not knowing what to say. Or what to do with himself. He couldn't dress in front of her so decided to shave first. Roaming about the room with easy grace, he gathered what he needed and propped a bronze mirror up on a sunny windowsill. Giving her a rather bashful look, he tightened the bath sheet more securely around his waist and turned his back to soap up his face. 

Tamina watched him, admiring how muscle and sinew tensed and flexed under his skin with every small movement he made. _ Gods above, he is beautiful_. She couldn’t ignore it anymore. _ Not after last night. _ Drawn against her will by his maleness, his wild vitality. Intoxicated by him, by the heat that radiated off him and the smell of him. By the feel of his hands on her. Giving her such intense pleasure, it was almost unbearable. 

She had woken before the break of day, feeling like she was drifting far out to sea. Floating effortlessly, immersed in serenity. Gradually she’d come back to the physical reality of her body tangled up in his, caught in a mess of sweaty clothing. Hot and sticky and perfect. Unwilling to wake him, Tamina had carefully inched away to free herself. Dastan was so exhausted he just rolled over onto his back with a sigh, one arm flung above his head. 

Standing motionless by the bed for a moment, she’d watched him sleeping. His hair tangled in boyish chaos, breathing deep and quiet. The dense curls covering the hard planes of his chest. His perfectly formed body was flawless. As if he’d been carved out of marble by a great sculptor. Except for the battle scars that marred his skin; testament to his life as a warrior. Not a brutish conqueror as she’d assumed but a protector. A champion. _ Hero of old indeed, _ she thought in admiration_. _

Her gaze slid downward where the loose linen of his clothing twisted and pulled low over his hip. Tamina had felt her body wake up, flushed and achy. Longing to touch him, to explore him. To feel that glorious release again. _ No wonder people heedlessly chase after such incredible moments of delirium. _ She understood now that it was more profound than mere gratification. Falling over a precipice into bliss. A surrender that felt like victory.

Instead, she’d gone to lead the morning prayers in the High Temple as she’d always done. Greeting Dawn as she opened the gates of heaven for the Sun’s journey. Hoping the ritual would cool the fever pulsing through her. It hadn't. 

So here she was in his bed again, unable to stay away. Tamina forced herself to be practical, remembering the reason she'd come. _ Or the excuse, _she admitted to herself with blunt self-awareness.

“I must ask you to attend the Guardian’s council tomorrow morning. It’s necessary for your account of the crisis to be recorded. We keep detailed chronicles to instruct those who come after us.”

Shaving his upper lip, Dastan grunted in acknowledgment. When he finished he wiped the soap from his face haphazardly and glanced at her over his shoulder.

“Whatever you need of me, Princess.” 

His words had a curious effect on her, prompting her to get up and take the wet cloth from him. Turning his jaw from side to side, she washed the lather away. Resting one hand lightly on his bare chest, she felt his heart racing like her own but he stood stock-still as if afraid to break the spell. She reached up to trace the crescent scar high on his wet cheek with her thumb, bound by the impossible blue of his eyes which seemed to glow from within in the bright sunlight. 

Time slowed, becoming a suspended moment that felt almost claustrophobic. A strange, suffocating foreboding gripped her. The fear that she was losing herself was so overpowering she felt compelled to escape, turning away without a word, fleeing toward the door.

Dastan slowly exhaled. Her unpredictable intimacies were staggering. _ She’s never going to make this easy on me, is she? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wishing you all the best in these difficult times. Stay well everyone :)


	10. Confidences

“If you’re still in bed,” Tus shouted as he stalked into Dastan’s chambers, “I’m going to skin you alive!” 

Dastan stuck his head out of the bedroom door just in time to see Tamina slip out of sight onto the long balcony that ran the length of the guest apartment.

“I should never have gone along with your asinine idea to work on the bloody gate. No matter how pathetic you looked. I’m sore in places that have never been sore before, you bastard!”

“I may very well be a bastard,” Dastan called back mildly, bemused by Tus’ outburst. His dignified older brother didn't usually let himself indulge in a rant, always trying to maintain the gravitas of a future king, even with his family. Dastan found it amusing. Mostly because Garsiv hated it. 

Strolling into the bedroom, Tus snorted at the old joke.

“Are Garsiv and Bis annoyed with me too?”

“No, Garsiv claims hard labor is good for me because I'm getting too soft. Although I caught him wincing in the saddle on our ride up here. His back must hurt,” Tus said with relish. “Bis just laughed his ass off at the both of us.”

“Did you come to give me hell or for some other reason?”

“Mostly to complain,” Tus huffed. He squinted at Dastan's lack of clothing. “You just got up? You _ are _ a bastard!”

Laughing at his brother’s irritation, Dastan poured Tus a cup of wine to draw his eyes away from the outer door so Tamina could escape unseen.

“So unlike me, you’re being a dutiful prince today.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her saunter into the sitting room behind Tus’ back. “What have you been doing?” Dastan asked hurriedly to keep his attention.

Picking up a bowl of grapes from a table laden with food, Tamina gave him a haughty smirk before going back out onto the terrace, clearly intending to take the opportunity to eavesdrop. Dastan shrugged inwardly, thinking how bad this situation could get. _ But if she wants to risk it... _

“Enduring an exhausting meeting with Speaker Ikram and Princess Tamina to finalize the treaty,” Tus said wearily. “They are both unfairly shrewd and uncompromising. I had Garsiv with me but he’s no help. After an hour of hard negotiation, he’ll just growl at people until they do what he wants. Which will definitely not work with Alamut. I sent him back to camp to cool off.”

Dastan chuckled, picking a white cotton shirt and supple leather trousers out of his pile of new clothes.

Tus sighed. “Ikram reminds me too much of Father. He expertly uses that disapproving look which always makes my balls shrivel with shame. And your princess-”

Dastan cut him off before he could say anything unforgivable. “What's the problem? I thought we planned to give them whatever they wanted?”

“Within reason, yes. But they want more than even our closest allies have been offered. Unrestricted access to all our ports and markets, completely free of duty or taxes. Our allies would be livid. It’s not as though Alamut can offer us something of equal value in return such as military support.”

“No army. And no weapon forges.”

“Exactly,” Tus said, grimacing slightly. Dastan glanced outside where he knew Tamina was listening and decided to nudge Tus’ viewpoint a bit.

“Have you been to Alamut’s marketplace?” Tus shook his head with a quizzical expression. “You should. And take the time to gossip with the traders,” Dastan advised.

“Come along then, you’re better at idle chit chat. Shall I send a message to Garsiv and Bis to meet us there?”

“I’m expecting Princess Tamina any minute. Ask Ikram to show you around. He might unbend if you express a genuine interest in his city.”

Tus was intrigued. “Very well, I will.”

He finished his wine and considered his brother’s easy smile. “I take it you’re back in Her Majesty’s good graces?” At Dastan’s involuntary flush, Tus chuckled and turned to leave. “Good luck with the formidable Beauty. Better you than me!”

_ Ironic, _ thought Dastan sourly as he walked him out and firmly shut the door in Tus’ mischievous face.

“He’s gone.”

Tamina came back in from the sunny terrace without the loose robe she'd been wearing earlier. He smiled weakly in appreciation at the snug, low-cut bodice that left her midriff bare and the harem pants that hugged her hips. Her skin glowed under a sheen of sweat making long wisps of hair cling enticingly to her graceful neck.

“And what will he discover in our market?”

Brought back with a jolt by her sharp question, it took him a second to drag his eyes away from the generous swell of her breasts and his mind out of the gutter.

“Opportunity,” Dastan replied cryptically.

Tamina crossed her arms and glowered at him. Which perhaps had the opposite effect on Dastan than she intended. Grinning, he sat on a cozy divan and shot out a hand to draw her gently but firmly to join him.

Shifting away to put more distance between them, Tamina watched in amazement at the enthusiastic way he attacked the delicious-looking dishes of food on the low table before them. After a second helping of almost everything, he leant back and sighed with satisfaction.

“Would it be a good time for the other apology I owe you?”

“For your appalling table manners?”

He gave her a cheeky wink. “No, _ Highness_! But I will beg your pardon for my unseemly gluttony if required. I’ve missed quite a few meals lately.” He put a hand over his heart in good-natured contrition. “I was trying to express my deep regret for not telling you everything sooner.”

Tamina appeared unconvinced and his expression grew somber.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me. Resent me for learning Alamut’s secrets. Or worse, you’d assume I was as guilty as Nizam and blame me for all of it.”

Dastan slid closer to take her hand, continuing with his usual disarming sincerity that she found impossible to resist.

“I wanted to earn your trust again. A second chance. If I didn’t, I would have told you the whole appalling story as soon as possible, handed the accursed dagger back, and been on my way.”

“Those are reasonable arguments,” she said and shrugged. “In any case, I had been prepared to believe you.”

Dastan wondered at her choice of words. They sounded significant. “Prepared?”

“Your nightmare. You dreamt about the lost time?” At Dastan’s confused nod, she went on. “Was it different in any way than what actually occurred?”

Dastan frowned, puzzled by her questions. “No.” Seeing that she waited for more, he added, “I see everyone die one after another. The nightmares usually end in the Sandglass chamber.”

‘With your death’ hung unspoken in the air between them.

Tamina was relieved. Normal dreams, not visions. The Gods were not toying with him. Only his own mind and heart grappling with the ordeal he suffered.

As he absently brushed lazy circles onto her palm with his thumb, she found herself sinking, soothed and relaxed, deeper into the cushions. With an effusive feeling of liberation, she reminded herself she could speak freely with him now. There were no more secrets to keep.

“The Gods converse with us through dreams and visions. The night of the battle I had a nightmare of the moment I fell. When I forced you to let me go. I saw it. I _ felt _ it.” Dastan’s face blanched and she squeezed his hand. “I didn’t know you were the man holding me. And I thought it was a warning, not a memory.”

Tamina crept in closer, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I’ve seen other fragments too, visions I didn’t understand until you told me. Sheltering from the sandstorm together and I think a glimpse of the Hassansin who betrayed us.” She shifted to look up at him. “The Gods also gave me a message for you.”

His body tensed and Tamina waited for his short nod. That he was ready to hear it.

“A destiny fulfilled is not an ending, but a beginning.”

Dastan turned her hand over in his to watch his thumb rubbing at the Guardian’s mark branded on her skin, his face inscrutable.

“And what do you think it means?” he asked quietly.

“That you’ve played your part and have been released from their interference. To make your own destiny.”

Her voice faltered, reluctant to say what needed to be said. “If you stay, you’ll be bound to them again. As I am. And our children will be. You still have a choice, Dastan.”

He slid an arm behind her back to tuck her into his side, unaware of the flash of regret that swept across her face. _ You should go! _ she wanted to scream_. Escape my prison while you can! _But the words wouldn't come.

His casual touch, the straightforward affection he'd shown her from the beginning, made her heart ache. She felt a distressing swell of desperation and bittersweet longing, suddenly afraid this faint stirring of happiness would slip through her fingers and never come again.

So she kissed him, not at all seductive or demanding, but soft and coaxing. More like an apology or a plea. Trembling and unsure, she licked once at his bottom lip and he opened to her, his mouth tasting like spiced wine, heady and intoxicating. All her fears and doubts began to seep out of her mind to make room for him.

Tentatively reaching under his shirt to stroke the warm skin of his back, her fingertips followed the scars that cut across the hard contours of muscle, feeling them flex and quiver under her delicate touch. And with a quiet groan, he crushed her to him, holding her still with one hand tangled in her hair to deepen the kiss.

Now eager and impatient, she pulled at his shirt until his chest was bare, her hands boldly sweeping over the dark curls, trailing down across the ridges of his stomach. She arched her body into his, her bare skin against his, moaning at the delicious friction. Dastan shuddered and pushed her away to hold her rigidly at arm's length, chest heaving with his harsh breathing.

“Tamina, we shouldn’t-”

“Why not?” she whined huskily and winced at the petulance in her voice.

Dastan eyebrows raised, “Even headstrong princesses don't always get what they want.” He shook his head, amused at the way her mouth turned down into a very attractive pout. “Last night was a mistake,” he said gently.

She made a sharp noise of indignation, ready to argue, but he cut her off. “I don't regret it, of course I don't! But we were...out of control. It was dangerous. I can't take such a risk with you again.”

“You said we would forge our relationship together,” she protested.

“Are you ready to sign the contract?” he shot back.

“No,” she muttered and flinched at the shadow of hurt that darkened his face.

She wriggled out of his loose grip on her arms and inched back toward him, that strange anxiety thrumming through her veins again.

“But Dastan, I trust you.” She reached up to brush his lips with her fingertips before letting her hand fall away. “I want you,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes as the force of her words hit him in the gut, making his heart race and his body grow taut.

“I won't dishonor you, Tamina,” he said bluntly. “Don't ask it of me.”

“Dishonor!” she said scornfully. “_Ruin _ me Dastan? _ Defile _ me!?”

She gave him an imperious glare, his Queen expressing her displeasure. Tempting him to voice a mocking retort that took a real effort to bite back.

“Yes, until last night I was untouched and completely inexperienced. But not for the reasons you assume,” she continued with a decided sneer. “Honor. Purity. _ Possession_. The moral strictures of ownership do not apply to the servants of the Gods. Nor do we bear unwanted, scandalous children. The Gods grant us a child only when it suits them, to serve a specific purpose. They care not for the mores of marriage or virtue.”

Dastan listened to her with an arrested expression. She was sharing more about herself in these last few minutes than in all their time together. _ Finally. _

“Although my people would feel more secure if I had an heir, I have not…well, I couldn't be bothered. There’s never been anyone I found interesting enough to take the trouble. Or the risk.”

“Why take the risk with me when you’re still unsure about our marriage? Tell me why,” he demanded.

“Because of the way you make me feel,” she mumbled, averting her eyes, vulnerability overcoming her again.

Almost afraid to ask, he prodded gently, “How do I make you feel Tamina?”

She gathered courage and forced herself to meet his eyes with candid honesty.

“Free.”

Dastan sucked in a deep breath. He didn’t know what her answer would be, but that was completely unexpected. Poignant, enticing, and he had to admit, very persuasive.

“What I want, what I hope to share with you, may not be _ honorable _ to the outside world, but who will care?” she asked carefully, watching him intently. “Or is it perhaps a personal code of conduct you adhere to?”

Dastan sighed. He was caught in a battle of wills that he didn't want to win. He couldn't fight against both of their desires. Denying them would be a sweet kind of torture he was almost sure he'd be unable to withstand. It was time to confess a fear of his own.

“I know you Tamina. I would worry that if… uh… intimacy between us resulted in the heir Alamut so greatly desires you’ll decide marriage is an inconvenience you’d rather forego.”

Her appalled expression reassured him somewhat. “I promise it never occurred to me to treat you so callously.”

Tamina’s instinct was to deny the implied criticism but acknowledged she was certainly capable of such cold ruthlessness.

“I could see myself doing that to some of the men I’ve considered in the past,” she admitted. “But not you. All or nothing. That’s what we agreed. But last night changed things for me.”

She struggled to find the words to express herself, to make him understand.

“If I were a normal girl or even an ordinary princess… But I’m not. Disquiet eats at the back of my mind, a worry I can’t make sense of. I _ know _ I cannot fully commit to you until I understand why I feel this way,” she said harshly, utterly frustrated with herself. “I’m not even sure it has anything to do with you. Or with us.”

She felt her thoughts and emotions begin to churn, to spiral out of control. Her lax hand resting in his clenched in agitation, her eyes darting away to look vacantly out the window to the grey haze of the far mountains on the horizon.

Dastan watched her with uneasy comprehension, realizing what she needed from him and why. And it was simple really. He’d already chosen to give her everything he was. Or ever could be. There was no going back, only forward.

He grasped her chin to turn her gaze back to him, rubbing at the tense furrow in the corner of her mouth to make it go away.

“I see now,” he murmured, drawing her in for a swift but tender kiss. “As you wish Tamina.”

She melted against him, an expectant smile slowly blooming over her face, devastating in its radiance.

“So… if we promise each other not to go too far?”

He let out a shaky laugh. He wasn't known for exhibiting great self-control. “That’ll be very difficult for me, make no mistake,” he said with a self-deprecating grimace. “Are you absolutely sure about this?”

Tamina wrapped her arms around his neck, earnestly trying not to look too pleased with her success at persuading him.

“Yes, Dastan,” she said, innocent and demure.

Not at all deceived, he tapped her chin with a finger in playful reproof.

“Don't assume I’ll always let you lead me by the nose. Remember, I know all your tricks.”

Tamina pursed her lips, giving no promises of good behavior. Which pleased Dastan immensely. Without warning, he pulled her into his arms and stood up.

“Dastan!” she cried with a startled laugh. “What are you doing?”

“I thought we'd just come to an amicable renegotiation,” he teased, carrying her back into his bedchamber. “So now we’re going to discover what you like.”

Tamina shivered. “What about what you like?” she asked huskily.

He sat on the edge of the bed with her in his lap, breathing in the scent of incense and sunlight that clung to her. 

“I can promise you-”

Dastan dragged his open mouth down her neck.

“That I...”

He kissed the warm hollow of her throat, feeling her smoky sigh of pleasure pierce the very core of him. 

“...will like everything.”


	11. Unchained

Lying in sublime disarray across Dastan’s lap, hair falling in tangled waves over the steel band of his arm at her back, Tamina clung to him, her hands buried in his shirt. His mouth slanted over hers, slow and deep, kissing her and kissing her, taking her _ elsewhere_. A dreamy rapture, unlike anything she’d experienced before. 

_ Yes, _ Tamina thought, languor flowing through her. _ This is what I wanted. _She felt the chains of her position loosen and fall away, the heavy weight of duty easing with every sigh and moan. But with a muffled groan of regret, Dastan drew away. 

Reluctantly opening her eyes, she found him staring at her red-kissed mouth and her breath caught at the sensual satisfaction on his face. He swept a thumb down over her full lips, dragging them apart. When her tongue darted out to wet it, his smile tilted into a smug smirk. 

“Mmm,” Dastan murmured. “Be patient.” 

With a knowing look, he gently set her down on the bed next to him. Tamina made a disgruntled noise and felt a hot flush rise up. _ Insufferable man! _

“Don’t flatter yourself, Prince. It will take more than a few sweet kisses to make me lose my head,” she snapped out of embarrassment or frustration, she wasn’t sure which. 

“Oh?” he asked with suppressed laughter in his voice. “What will it take?” 

“I don’t yet know,'' she countered. “I thought that was your responsibility. I was rather looking forward to finding out, but you seem to prefer teasing me!” 

As usual, her show of temper only served to amuse him. He kissed her cheek, his low chuckle tickling her skin. 

“Princess, I freely admit you made me lose _ my _ head. I didn’t even shut the door!” 

Before she could think of a witty retort, he gave her a wink and went to rummage through his pile of armour lying on a chair. Freeing a thin leather strap from a tangle wrapped around a wrist guard, Dastan took it to tie loosely around the outside handle of the bedroom door before closing it. 

“A signal?” 

“As you saw, my family barge in whenever they like. We’ve all used this sort of warning one time or another,” he confessed as he passed by out onto the balcony.

Tamina frowned. She hadn’t thought of him with other women before. With his position and undeniable physical appeal, he could doubtless have any woman he wanted. _ Not to mention that absurd charm of his_, she fumed, resenting him and his faceless lovers and men in general. Unable to stop herself, she imagined who they might be. Court ladies, a tavern wench, a favorite concubine, his slave? 

_ Jealousy? _ Irrational and ugly, it made her feel weak and ashamed. With an effort, she pushed the senseless emotion away, refusing to let it trouble her further. _ He’s mine now. Mine. If I have the courage to keep him. _ She wondered if he knew how difficult it was to let him get so close. Then she remembered the changes to their marriage contract he’d insisted on and recognized he probably did.

She followed him outside, watching him bar all the open doors and secure the wooden shutters between the arches of the colonnaded balcony.

“I remembered there might be a storm tonight,” he said. “We'd just escaped the Valley of the Slaves and had to shelter in a cave until it passed. A vicious gale, but perhaps it won’t be so bad here in Alamut.” 

He saw the question in her eyes. “No, the sandstorm is still a week away.” 

Bright rays of sunlight pierced the intricately carved lattice shutters, casting delicate patterns of luminous stars, bathing the two of them in an ambient glow. Serene and intimate, blocking out the world. Tamina took in the perfect moment with heightened awareness, waiting for what he would do.

Dastan met her eyes with a fierce intensity, alert and penetrating. “May I?”

With breathless expectation, she nodded, trying to control her nerves. She wanted him to undress her, to touch her, to bed her. But despite the longing thrumming through her, Tamina was unsettled by his grave formality, an uncharacteristic sobriety that told her he didn’t take this lightly at all. 

Dastan pulled her to him, spanning her bare waist, his thumbs sliding over her belly. When he ran his hands up her back to tug gently on the laces of her insubstantial bodice, Tamina tensed, tiny shivers of anticipation washing over her.

Then he startled her by spinning her around. Gathering her hair together in a fist, he let it flow through his hands, combing with his fingers to remove the tangles. Dastan pressed his mouth to the nape of her neck and she felt his lips curve into a smile at her gasp.

“Your hair’s lovely, but it’ll get in our way,” he said, braiding her hair with surprising efficiency. 

“You’ve done this for me before?” Tamina asked sharply, looking at him over her shoulder. “What else have we done?”

“No! I mean, nothing!” Her level stare forced him to elaborate. “We loathed the sight of each other for at least two weeks. And later… well, there wasn’t any time. Or privacy,” he said, thinking of the unwelcome appearance of Sheik Amar and his company of ruffians.

Her eyes narrowed, uncomfortable possessiveness rising up again. “You’re awfully adept at braiding a woman’s hair.”

“Believe it or not, I’ve had more practice braiding horse’s tails than women’s tresses.”

Tamina rolled her eyes as he chuckled at his own joke. With a brazen grin, he plucked out one of the laces holding her bodice together, using it to bind her hair. She felt the sleeves fall off her shoulders, Dastan’s hands trailing after to push the thin muslin to her elbows. She looked down to see it gaping open, her breasts almost spilling out.

She turned around to face him, arching a provocative brow. A diffuse, pleasant ache grew at her core when she saw his raw desire. Dastan stepped back hastily, taming his hungry expression.

“There _ were _ a few ‘almost’ kisses and one real one,” he continued after clearing his throat. “Even when I longed to wring your pretty neck, I couldn't help admiring the way your eyes flashed at me with haughty contempt. And your luscious mouth tempted me on more than one occasion. Not to mention your voice.”

“My voice?” She murmured, low and rich, the sweet roughness of it skittering up his spine.

Dastan swallowed a groan and closed his eyes in amused resignation. _ She isn’t even trying to be seductive. When she discovers her sensual power, I’m in serious trouble. _

She dragged the silky tail of her plait over his mouth and down his neck while he wasn’t looking. His startled laugh sounded more like a strangled moan.

“If you're finished with the...preparations,” Tamina said dryly, wrapping her arms around his waist, burrowing into him to nose at his shoulder, searching for his warm musky scent that made her feel almost drunk.

Last night she’d felt like she was drowning in him and it wasn’t just his touch that enthralled her, it was his essence. His scent and the taste of his mouth. The flavor of his skin. Sweat, salt, and sand. The purity of his masculinity, elemental and real. She wanted that again.

“You're too clean,” she muttered under her breath, disappointed to find only a faint trace of him masked by a stronger fragrance of sandalwood oil and soap.

“W-what?”

Tamina blushed. Instead of answering, she pulled him down for a searing kiss, too self-conscious to share such a revealing discovery about herself. Not yet, at least. He parted his lips, letting her in, encouraging her to take whatever she wanted. Panting breaths and raspy moans, their kiss rapidly became wild and consuming.

She dragged her mouth away and spread his shirt wide, pushing it over his shoulders to fall on the floor as he walked her backward to a low settee. He sat, and grasping her hips, he caged her between his spread legs, looking up at her with a question in his eyes.

Gingerly, Dastan reached up to run his fingertips over the swell of her breasts, his touch feather-light, watching her reaction with rapt attention before slipping a hand down into her half-open bodice, pushing it farther apart. Her breathing deepened as he caressed her, so gently and carefully, sighing at the way his calluses caught at her skin and the slight scratch of a fingernail.

She saw the moment his watchful consideration became something more urgent. His eyes fell from her face to her breasts, tantalizingly close. With both hands, he inched her bodice downward with seductive deliberation. Wanting her to feel the drag of delicate fabric glide over her flesh and the chill of cool air prickling her bare skin. To acknowledge him as the first man to see her like this. Needing her to accept that it meant something important. Their beginning.

He drank her in with a leisurely sweep of his eyes, a truly dazzling smile lighting up his face. A tender look of admiration, of wonder, showing his absolute delight in just gazing at her.

“I thought you couldn’t be any more beautiful,” he rasped, taking a handful of her, relishing the lush weight in his palm.

“Surely I’m no different than any other woman,” Tamina whispered tremulously.

Dastan met her eyes, shaking his head, incredulous. “Don’t you know how lovely you are? I can’t tell you how often I’ve thought about this…”

His thumb circled a nipple, just grazing it ever so slightly, eliciting a desperate gasp from her. He rolled and kneaded her creamy flesh with agonizing control as she stood before him, trembling and pliant, unable to do anything but feel.

Watching his own fingers play with her, he plucked and teased the tip until it tightened into a drawn peak, making her squirm with that sweet ache pooling between her thighs.

Slowly, he drew her closer, his mouth skimming over her chest, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake as he descended to breathe deep at the warm valley of her breasts where her lingering perfume smelled the strongest. Cupping her breasts, pushing them together, he lifted them up as an offering, taking a nipple in his mouth.

In the sheltered quiet of the shuttered balcony, she closed her eyes to concentrate on the wet sound of his mouth worshipping her breasts, licking and sucking. To hear their harsh breathing, broken by the rumble of his soft groans and her own husky moans of pleasure.

He traced a hand down her stomach to between her legs, massaging her through her loose clothing and felt the fabric dampen. She whimpered at the expanding heat pulsing through her lower body with every racing beat of her heart. Unconsciously her hips twisted and bucked into his hand, demanding more.

“Dastan, please…”

Breathing fast and hot, his mouth full of her, laving her nipple with his tongue, Dastan answered with a low growl.

Perhaps more roughly than he intended, he yanked her billowy trousers down over her hips where they fell in a heap to pool at her feet, reaching for her dripping and needy core before they even hit the floor. He bore down with the heel of his hand to help her grind forcefully against it, finding a rhythm that made her keen with pleasure.

Tamina felt her knees give way and bent over him helplessly, her hands buried in his hair, clasping him to her shaking frame. “I...I can’t…,” she cried softly.

An exuberant laugh fell from his mouth and his strong arms slid around her waist, catching her. Dastan brought her to lie back against his chest on the settee, held between his legs. Tamina basked in the warmth of his body, feeling his short rasping breaths and heart pounding wildly at her back.

With her head resting on his shoulder she stared up at him for a long moment, taking in the scorching look in his eyes which probably matched her own. Tamina grasped his neck to bring his mouth to hers in a slow, deep kiss. Taking his hand, she led it to her breast, and he took it eagerly, while he trailed the other downward.

He looked down at her, voluptuous and luscious, laid bare before him. His hands roamed over her freely, parting her thighs, spreading her open, touching her.

His solid presence behind her, trapping, supporting, surrounding, made her acutely conscious of her own body. His hard planes to her yielding curves. That she was only truly aware of the heavy fullness of her breasts when he held them, cradled in his hands. Or only felt her wet arousal with his fingers dancing over her. How delicate she felt under his large, strong hands.

With both his hands nestled between her legs, caressing her, teasing her, he stopped.

“Tamina.” There was a slight tremor in his voice. “We agreed not to go too far, but what does ‘too far’ mean to you?”

It took her a moment to gather her wits, to comprehend his question, let alone answer it.

“I don’t- I don’t know...,” she stammered, unable to articulate her thoughts. “No babies,” she settled on finally.

Luckily Dastan seemed to understand what she meant. He nodded once and with gentle force pushed a long finger inside her wet heat.

“Oh!” she exclaimed in surprise at feeling herself being stretched and filled, overwhelmed by the sensation.

Tamina’s hand gripped his forearm, nails digging into his skin. Eyes falling shut and mouth falling open.

“_Oh!_”

The cry caught in her throat when Dastan drew out and pushed back in, his knuckles bumping against her deliciously with every smooth thrust of his finger, his other hand rubbing quick circles over her bud. Everything building toward a fever pitch, intensifying with every twist and push of his wrist.

He felt her clench down on his finger, her back arching. Watched with gratified awe as her body seized and convulsed around his hand. It shook her apart, her breath coming in shallow pants as she came undone with spectacular suddenness.

Dastan held her tightly to him as her tremors eased, kissing everywhere he could reach. Her temple, her shoulder, her lips.

Tamina opened her eyes and laughed.

As she shifted to her side to cuddle into him, he couldn’t help a sharp hiss of indrawn breath at the tortuous thrill that shot through him when her hip grazed his throbbing erection.

Tamina examined him closely, dismayed by the grim set of his jaw. She deliberately pressed into him again, watching in fascination as his eyes closed and his lips parted on a low groan.

She sat up to get a good look at him, reaching out to touch it.

“Don’t, for the love of all that’s holy!”

She paused, disconcerted by his sharp tone of voice. She knew he needed release and wondered at his reluctance to share it with her. _ Perhaps my inexperience is to blame. _

“Show me.”

Dastan blinked at her.

“I want to watch you. Show me.”

Tamina pushed him to his feet and reclined on the cushions, lying before him in stunning abandon. She watched his expression flicker, trying to follow the emotions flashing across his face. Embarrassment, doubt, desire. She saw the second he realized her idea excited him. She smiled knowingly and he smirked back at her.

He stood over her, one knee braced on the settee between her legs and tugged at the laces at his hip. Pulling himself free, engorged and straining. Her eyes raked over him, unashamed and curious.

Tamina bent an arm behind her head, getting comfortable. “Take them off.”

“Manners, Princess,” he chided. “Ask nicely.”

Tamina snorted a laugh. He may have been taken aback by her demands, but it didn’t take long for his cheeky arrogance to resurface.

She watched, captivated, as he stroked himself lazily, running a thumb over the head in slow circles.

“Please, Dastan,” she murmured, not caring that she sounded breathless and eager.

Taking off his trousers, Dastan quirked a brow at her, delighted that she seemed stirred by this as much as he was, hoping it wouldn't upset her somehow. He had to admit he was surprised, if not a little shocked, at her adventurous sensuality.

He’d never brought himself to completion in front of anyone before but had felt only a brief embarrassment. She asked, or rather commanded, and he wanted to please her. In fact, he could tell this would be one of the most erotic moments of his life. And he hoped for more, many more with her.

Dastan knelt above her, staring, completely enraptured by her wanton beauty. Heavy-lidded eyes, mouth parted, skin flushed, glistening with arousal just for him. Tamina gasped when he reached down between her thighs, gathering her moisture on his hand.

He curled his fist around himself and pumped at a steady pace, moving slick and easy along his length, breath deepening with every slide of his hand.

Tamina began to idly touch herself, opening her legs wider when she saw him watching with dark, hungry eyes. His lips parted in a quiet moan as he changed his movement, gripping himself just under the tip, his fist slipping rhythmically over the head.

She held her breath, transfixed by the look of driving need on his face. His magnificent body taught and proud, his breath coming in stuttering gasps, chest heaving. The muscles of his arm straining with his vigorous motion.

His strokes became fast but tightly controlled, eyes closing and head thrown back, until a frown crossed his face and he tried to back away. Tamina hooked a leg around his hips to keep him close, her eyes widening, completely focused on his hand.

With a shuddering groan, he came, spurting across her stomach, his body jerking with the perfect, hot rush of release.

Winded and unsteady, Dastan fell toward her, just barely preventing himself from crushing her with his full weight. He dropped his forehead against hers, taking in deep gulps of air and felt himself melt.

He looked down at her, blinking slowly, his eyes unfocused. Caressing his cheek, she pushed back the hair falling across his flushed face. His arms shook with the effort of holding himself up, mindful of the mess he'd left behind.

“Um, sorry?” Dastan gave her a smile that looked bashful and brazen at the same time.

Tamina wrapped her arms around his back, pulling him down to lie flat on top of her. With a sly grin, she wriggled underneath him, smearing the creamy stickiness between them, mussing him as well.

“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear.

With a grunt of effort, he peeled himself away and stood up weakly, bracing a hand against the wall.

“You’ll want a bath, I suppose.”

“No.” She held her arms open for him to pick her up, no longer bothering to pretend she didn't like it. “Bed. I want to go to bed.”

As he carried her the short way inside to the shadowed bedchamber, Tamina nuzzled his neck, tasting his salty skin. Taking deep breaths of him, relishing the way his scent clouded her mind. She vaguely wondered if it was common for a woman to be thoroughly seduced by something so base and uncouth as a man’s sweat. _ If he only knew… _

After laying her down, he brought the cold, soapy water and stale towel from his shave. He swiftly wiped himself clean before taking his time with her, warming the wet towel in his hand before drawing it slowly over her stomach and inner thighs. After drying her off with a corner of the bedsheet, he ran a finger hesitantly over a red discoloration on her hip, glancing at her in silent apology.

She was amazed by his careful ministrations but realized she shouldn’t be. 

“You're always so considerate,” she began cautiously. “I’ve discovered that when it comes to ah... to intimate matters, I’d prefer you not to be.”

Dastan reached over to rinse the towel but stopped midway, turning to give her his full attention.

“You know I will tell you, with blunt honesty, if you discomfort me in any way,” she teased, running her hand lightly across his chest.

“No hesitation, no apologies, no asking permission. I give it to you now.” Tamina cupped his jaw in her hand. “Please, Dastan. Do whatever you want with me.”

He froze, an arrested look on his face. He searched her eyes, direct and self-aware as always. She meant what she said.

Dastan leant down, his mouth hovering over hers, barely touching. “I want to taste you. All of you.”

The naked lust in his voice made her stomach clench with excitement, her skin erupt with heat. Her hand curled into a fist, catching in his hair as he swallowed her moan. His kiss devoured her, burning away all rational thought.

Unhurried and lingering, delicious and tormenting, his mouth and hands worked down her body, memorizing the places she sighed and gasped. Neck, shoulder, the inside of her elbow. Sucking at the pulse of her wrist and the Guardian mark on her palm.

He nuzzled the underswell of her breast, humming against her skin, leaving messy, open-mouthed kisses and buried his face in between her breasts. Gently teasing a swollen nipple with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue.

His hands curled around her hips as he brought his mouth to sweep around her navel, pressing his cheek to the smooth curve of her belly, running his fingers over the creases of her thighs.

He looked up at her, smiling lazily at her soft whines and pants, the way she moaned his name.

“The sounds you make,” he whispered. “The sounds I can get you to make… they’re a fire in my blood.”

He kissed her inner thigh before bringing his lips to her folds, breathing over her, preparing her. Her scent flooded his senses making his head swim.

Tamina felt herself grow heavy and swollen with arousal. When Dastan’s mouth found her center, she arched her back, lost. Her hands gripped his hair in breathless suspense as she quivered and thrust helplessly against him, feeling weightless and feverish, her body unraveling.

Anchoring her with a forearm over her hip, he spread her open with his fingers, tongue gently probing her entrance, licking into her. Running his lips up to her pearl, circling around it, sucking it with firm, even pressure, flicking with his tongue.

Her cries rose to a higher and higher pitch until her thighs started to tremble and she broke. Pleasure ripped through her, spiraling from her control. Wave after wave, he stayed with her until she stilled at last.

Opening her eyes to a darkened room, Tamina felt him sprawled on top of her, his head resting between her breasts. She gradually became aware of wind rattling the shutters and thunder rumbling in the distance and extended a trembling hand to run her fingers through his hair.

Dastan raised himself on an elbow to look down at her. “So...have I ravished you sufficiently?”

Her laugh was full, low, and rich. A warm huskiness that washed over his overheated skin, leaving him shivering in its wake. With an affectionate familiarity Tamina knew she’d never get enough of, he brushed his nose against hers and lay down beside her, pulling her close.

“You taste like the desert after a storm. Earthy, fragrant, and sweet.”

In the dark, she could feel the curve of his smile at her temple. Tamina’s heart swelled and she inexplicably felt like crying. _ So this is joy, uncomplicated and pure. _

For a second she imagined herself standing on the edge of a precipice, a thrilling but terrifying cliff-edge. But she was ready to jump. To fall into him.

Because she knew he would catch her.


	12. Foundations of Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter comes from another of my favorite Prince of Persia stories, 'Foundations of Sand' by DawningStar. I hope you'll read and enjoy it as much as I do!

Her touch woke him. Tamina’s smooth hand gliding across the small of his back. A howling tempest raged outside, incandescent lightning flashing through the lattice shutters. The bright light teasing Dastan’s closed eyes made him open them, squinting at the glare. He took in the numerous lanterns lighting the room and Tamina wearing one of his shirts, draped loose and open around her body, giving him an alluring view of her bare breasts. She leant on an elbow, watching her hand move up his spine, pale against his sun-bronzed skin.

Something he did caused her to glance up. A catch of breath or his body tensing under her caress, telling her he was awake. Tamina dropped a kiss to his shoulder blade and he rolled over with a yawn, pulling her in by the nape of her neck with a lazy half-smile. But she drew back, looking apologetic.

“I must go prepare for the Guardian council soon.”

She flinched at a particularly loud clap of thunder. “Did I tell you before that I hate storms?” she asked, brushing back his hair. “I can never tell if they’re an omen or a simple force of nature.”

He shook his head, stroking her cheek with a thumb. “Can I help?” he asked, voice rough from sleep.

“Yes.” Tamina eased a leg over his hips to straddle him. “Lie still so I can touch you as I please.”

Dastan exhaled shakily, unprepared for the sudden appearance of this goddess of a woman. Magnificent, radiant, and imperious. He knew she was about to drive him to his knees and felt a pulsing heat flood his body. Exquisite, burning anticipation.

He lay pliant under her hands as they roamed over him in leisurely exploration, tracing the pattern of bone and sinew under his skin. Down his arms, following a scar across his ribs, his muscles rippling in reaction. Making him laugh by dipping the tip of a finger into his navel. Skimming through the coarse hair of his chest, she grazed his nipples with her palms.

At his sharp hiss, she paused, tilting her head in curiosity. “Good or bad?”

“Good. Too good. You make it very difficult-” Dastan muttered a curse when she did it again. “-not to move.”

She smiled wickedly and gave them her undivided attention, delighting in the way his breath hitched every time she circled one, flicking it with a finger. Pinching them softly as they stiffened to hard peaks. Making him writhe and shudder underneath her.

“Tamina…,” he whined. At the end of his endurance.

The helpless need in his voice made her feel bold and powerful. Tamina leant over him, dropping kisses to his jaw, his neck, the curve of his shoulder. Teasing his nipples with the tip of her tongue, licking the salt off his skin.

She felt him between her legs, stiff and twitching against her inner thigh. She slid down, trapping his erection between their bodies. Carefully shifting her position, an expression of intense concentration on her face, she rubbed her wet folds with slow deliberation along his hard length.

“I want to make you shatter. To send you into ecstasy,” she whispered, hovering a hair's-breadth from his mouth, her breath hot on his lips. “Like you do to me.”

Dastan moaned, digging his fists into the pillows above his head. His body grew tight and rigid with the effort to remain motionless. Barely restraining himself from the fierce urge to plunge into her. To sink into the silky heat that glided against him so smooth and easy. She moved with sinuous grace, grinding down on him in an undulating rhythm. And Dastan was losing his mind.

“Is this...will it be enough?” she breathed in his ear.

“Yes,” he gasped. “But... take care, I...”

He felt the crest rise, about to crash over him, and grabbed fistfuls of his own shirt to drag her into a messy kiss. His hips rocked upward, rutting against her stomach as he let go in a sweet, throbbing release, his husky groan of pleasure smothered by her lips.

With unmistakable pride, she sat up to admire her handiwork. Her thoroughly satisfied lover. Panting, dazed, and replete. She cleaned them off this time, Dastan watching her with half-closed eyes and a rakish smile.

“Mm-hmm,” Tamina murmured smugly. “Just like that.”

Dastan grinned, flipping them over and pinned her down to get his own back. Kissing her, touching her with lascivious determination. Shamelessly using what he’d discovered about her to masterful effect. But when his fingers delved into the soft warmth between her legs, Tamina caught his wrist, shaking her head with a smoky laugh.

“Later,” she said, pushing limply at his chest. “I must go to be dressed. My attendants are probably wondering where I am.”

“If you _ must_,” he grumbled, lifting off her grudgingly.

Tamina wiggled out from under him to leave the bed in search of her clothes, letting his shirt slide off her shoulders as she went. Dastan’s eyes roved over her as she walked away. Taking in her stunning, naked glory for the first time, lingering on the elegant sway of her hips. He groaned and slumped back on the bed in grumpy resignation.

She returned from the balcony fully dressed and sat next to him, smiling at the way he lay sprawled out with a foot dangling off the edge and began to unbind her hair. But Dastan heaved himself up with a grunt and nudged her hand aside. He untied her braid, releasing her dark tresses to fall, loose and wavy, down to her waist. Weaving the laces through her bodice to refasten it, he adjusted the sleeves and straightened the neckline with a gentle tug.

As he put her back to rights, Tamina felt a wistful melancholy. Resenting the intrusion of duty and obligation, the guilty desire to hide away with him a little longer startled her. She struggled to speak, to find the words to express what this stolen moment meant to her. Yet her feelings were too raw, too confused. Too overwhelming.

So she said nothing, but kissed him, emotion filling her mind and heart. Wishing he could taste it in her kiss, to feel it flooding out of her, blazing like the sun.

“Tamina?” he breathed, eyes searching hers with a puzzled crease between his brows.

“Later,” she whispered, sweeping her fingertips across his lips.

She turned away to regain her composure, to face reality. “Sleep a bit more if you can. The council begins in a few hours. I’ll send for you.”

Dastan watched her go and fell back onto the cushions with a contented sigh, his heart full and hopeful.

\---

“So he used the dagger? At least now you appreciate your grave error of judgment, Princess.”

A reproachful male voice and a low rumble of agreement greeted Dastan’s ears as he arrived outside the open doors of the High Temple with Lady Ravan.

“You should have sent it to safety at the first sign of Persian banners as we urged,” another man admonished.

He couldn’t see Tamina or hear her low reply, but her Second huffed in indignation.

“And don’t forget she brought nonbelievers to the Guardian Temple,” a woman chimed in, provoking another round of mingled complaint and disapproval.

Dastan glanced at Ravan’s stony demeanor. “I’m not supposed to be hearing any of this am I?” he muttered.

She faced him with a level gaze. “No. We are by nature suspicious, inflexible malcontents. Nevertheless, Princess Tamina trusts you. Therefore, so do I.”

“They speak to her with such a lack of respect,” Dastan said, voice tight with anger.

“Because they were her teachers. Her trainers and mentors. They still see her as an uncertain, frightened child,” Ravan said derisively. “No matter what she does, how well she rules, it will always be so.”

Tamina’s sharp tone of exasperation rose above the uproar. “Guardians, please! Let the Keeper of the Annals continue.”

Dastan saw a wizened woman, stooped with age, standing behind a long table with three young scribes sitting next to her, their heads bent low over piles of parchment. She held the scroll they’d recovered from Nizam’s hiding place.

“The scroll is written in archaic Babylonian. I take it the translation I read out was also provided by Prince Dastan? Well, it’s quite accurate,” the Keeper said with a nod of approval. “I’m fairly certain I found the incident the scroll describes in the Annals. It occurred during the reign of Queen Edha.”

The room erupted again in an excited buzz of comment. Dastan raised a brow at Ravan in question.

“Our way of life and religious practice changed drastically under her rule,” she murmured. “Before her, we worshipped openly and pilgrims often came to Alamut. A thousand years ago Queen Edha built the wall and abandoned the old city.”

He didn’t need to be told it was done to conceal the Sandglass, to protect it from curious outsiders when Alamut became too widely known.

“You say the boy’s uncle brought about the Persian’s attack?” asked an elderly man sitting on a bench near the door. “He had the scroll?”

Tamina walked into Dastan’s field of view. She looked sullen and defensive.

“Yes, Lord Harun,” she said through gritted teeth, “but His Royal Highness, Prince Dastan brought the scroll to me immediately after he discovered it.”

She sighed, addressing the gathering as a whole. “All your questions will be answered. However, before the prince joins us, I want to discuss the traitor priest. He was instrumental to Nizam’s plot. He revealed the true power of the dagger, led the Hassansins to the Guardian Temple, and betrayed the location of the Sandglass. Does anyone have any idea who he is?”

“I believe I do, Princess,” Ravan said, striding forward into the crowded room. “He must be Ghazab, Mehdi’s son.”

“Mehdi?” Tamina exclaimed, putting a hand to her mouth in shock.

She sounded so distressed, Dastan immediately barged in without permission and went to her, taking both her hands in his. Tamina stared up at him blankly, her horrified gaze looking through him as if he wasn't there.

“Ghazab disappeared soon after his father attacked you,” Ravan said gently, her eyes on Tamina. “Vanished without a trace.”

Unlike their previous restive exclamations and mutters, the other Guardians sat frozen and silent. A tall, dignified woman Dastan recognized from the burial ceremony came forward to address Tamina directly.

“None of us realized the danger Medhi posed until it was too late. As Second to your mother, and later to you, Princess, he wielded absolute authority. He was a traditionalist, exacting and stern. As you know, Medhi made harsh demands of us all, most especially his own son. Even though Ghazab was the best fighter I’ve ever trained, he wasn’t cut out for the sober, spiritual life his father expected of him. I assumed the boy left us to be free.”

Several of the Guardians shifted uneasily, sharing pointed glances, yet no one uttered a word. Dastan could tell he was missing something.

“Princess?”

Tamina ignored him, staring down at their clasped hands, deep in thought. Dastan caught Asoka’s eye, impatience getting the better of him.

“And?” he barked in unconscious command.

“Lord Mehdi tried to usurp Princess Tamina’s rule by the simple means of killing her. He died in the attempt,” Asoka bit out with cold fury. 

Dastan’s blood went cold. _ No wonder she’s upset! _He laced his fingers through hers, longing to comfort her but knew Tamina would rebuff any display of weakness in front of her subjects. Especially her fellow Guardians.

“He was insane,” Ikram added bitterly.

“So Ghazab wants revenge on behalf of his father?” Dastan wondered aloud.

Tamina remembered the seemingly inconsequential conversation between her parents the Gods allowed her to witness. She sensed her mother’s complaints about Mehdi were somehow relevant and peered up at Dastan who watched her with a worried frown.

“Perhaps. Except…,” Tamina said vaguely, almost to herself. “My mother called Mehdi a fanatic.”

“What does it matter?” snapped another of the onlookers, eyeing Dastan suspiciously. “Ghazab is in league with their Hassansins. What are you Persians doing to find him?”

Dastan glared at the little man. “We accept Persia’s responsibility and will deal with the Hassansins,” he pledged.

Tamina’s eyes sharpened. “We?”

He pulled her to the side with their backs to the others, murmuring for her ears alone. “I’ve kept your secrets but my family must be made aware that Ghazab is a real threat to Alamut. That the search for the Hassansins is more urgent than we thought. I’ll weave a convincing argument around the truth as best as I can.”

Tamina nodded in tacit approval. Turning around to face the assembly, she noticed many of the Guardians observing the two of them, scrutinizing their unmistakable solidarity. Many with misgiving and some with disapproval.

But for once she didn’t care about the opinions of her elders. Unexpectedly, she found Dastan’s supportive presence by her side steadied her. He was here for _ her_.

She indicated a chair facing the Guardians. “Need I remind you we have Prince Dastan of Persia to thank for our continued existence?” Tamina said in not so subtle criticism of the council member’s rudeness.

With Tamina standing behind him, her hand on his shoulder, Dastan sat in vague discomfort in front of one hundred men and women, young and old. He was surprised he knew most of them by sight. He’d seen many at the burial ceremony, of course, as well as recognizing members of Tamina’s court and officers of the Guard. Even spotting a few who’d helped them in the lost time. Then there were the Guardians he’d seen in death. Cut down by Persian blades as they defended the palace and the gruesome dead from the Hassansin’s attack on the Guardian Temple. All of them examining him with varying degrees of distrust.

“Guardians, you have been informed about what happened. Prince Dastan consented to attend this gathering to bear witness. I ask that you refrain from comment or interruption until his testimony has been recorded,” Tamina finished tersely.

Glaring back at their hostile faces, it infuriated him, the way they treated her. It also bothered him that she herself didn’t seem to comprehend her own heroic nature. _ Which is probably my fault_, he admitted to himself.

He’d chosen to tell her a factual but brief version of events which was, in hindsight, a disservice to her. Now he had the chance to rectify his mistake. _ I’m going to make damn sure I teach them who their High Priestess really is! _ he vowed. _ A warrior queen of dauntless valor. Pure and incorruptible. _

So he described in excruciating detail everything she’d done to uphold Alamut’s divine covenant with the Gods. Every ploy, every trick, every strategy. Striding forward without hesitation to give her life for mankind. As he spoke, Dastan regarded the Guardians, staring them down one by one. Some gave him nods of acknowledgement. Others averted their eyes, ashamed. A few, like Ravan and Ikram, smiled in grim satisfaction.

Describing her self-sacrifice in the Sandglass chamber, Dastan’s voice cracked and he paused for a moment. He missed her presence behind him, glancing around to find her standing in the shadows, gazing fixedly at the dagger in its golden cage.

Frowning in concern, Ravan watched Tamina as well but returned her attention to Dastan as the silence lengthened.

“Prince Dastan, there is more I presume?” Ravan asked.

He cleared his throat and finished by briefly recounting the two confrontations with Nizam, before time reversed and after on the palace steps. Hours had passed but the ordeal wasn’t over yet. A young priest brought him food and cool water while the Guardians talked among themselves. As he ate, the Keeper of the Annals asked him to repeat parts of his story, verifying the scribes' work. And then the questions came. But Tamina remained standing in the background letting Ravan lead the discussion.

The storm finally eased into a clear night sky, unveiling a watery moon that bathed the temple in a silvery radiance when the interrogation finally ended. After Ravan dismissed the council, the Guardians drifted out, subdued and a few chastened, coming to grips with what they’d heard.

Dastan knew he’d laid his feelings bare before these strangers but it didn't trouble him. He only hoped he'd done Tamina justice in the telling. Enough to make her people appreciate her strength of character, to honor her as she deserved.

But when she swept past him to leave without a word, he realized something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

He ran down the narrow stairs after her two steps at a time, the Guardians scrambling out of his way. “Tamina wait!”

At the landing, she wheeled around, her face ashen and drawn. A sharp contrast to the vibrant woman of the morning when she'd glowed with the power of the earth and sky. Dastan’s stomach clenched.

“What troubles you?” Dastan lifted a hand to her cheek but she moved aside, out of reach. “Is it Mehdi? What did he do to you?”

“It was long ago,” she said. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” He sighed in mild exasperation. “Talk to me. Let me help if I can.”

Tamina didn’t want to discuss her harrowing childhood. Or to admit what was actually bothering her. So she hid behind her usual shield: a verbal attack.

“Just because you think you know me gives you no right to invade my life like you invaded my city!”

Taken aback by her flash of temper, Dastan frowned in confusion. “I'm too tired to play guessing games. Where is this sudden fury coming from?”

“Dastan...” she said in a clear tone of warning.

“Stop pushing me away and tell me what’s wrong!” he demanded, his expression clouding over in hurt frustration.

“Very well,” she said with brittle civility, acutely aware of the Guardian’s intrusive glances as they passed. “But not here.”

From the landing, she led him along a drab corridor in a fog of misery, her thoughts returning to the moment her dawning happiness withered and died.

It was as he recounted their misadventure in the Valley of the Slaves that she discerned his intention. Retelling the saga as if he himself was a minor participant, an observer. Making her the hero of their story. Tamina heard admiration, bordering on awe, in his voice when he told the assembly how she’d turned the tables on him again and again with her wit and spirit. How she strove without fail to carry out her duty with unblinking courage. Winning his grudging respect, then his trust, and finally his loyalty. 

As she listened to him sing her praises, Tamina began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. An odd resentment arose in her, an emotion akin to jealousy.

Opening a plain wooden door hidden by a wall hanging, she brought them outside onto a narrow balcony perched high on a shear wall that dropped precipitously down to the dark city far below.

Slamming the door shut, fists planted firmly on his hips, Dastan waited impatiently for her to speak. Tamina forced herself to meet his eyes calmly. Taking responsibility for the pain she was about to inflict.

“You think you love me but you don’t.”

Dastan stared at her in stunned silence for a long moment before he barked a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Unbelievable! Did last night scare you, Princess? Did I get too close?”

He shook his head in consternation, a muscle in his jaw popping with barely suppressed anger.

“It’s too late to hide behind your masks and armour!” he sneered, eyes glinting like shards of ice in the moonlight.

Unprepared for the heated force of his outrage, she inhaled deeply, inwardly praying for the strength to do what needed to be done.

“When we spoke for the first time I asked how I could trust the man who breached the walls of my city. Do you remember your reply?”

He crossed his arms, sensing the danger, and refused to answer.

“You said ‘I'm starting to think I'm no longer the same man who breached those walls.’ And you aren’t,” she said bluntly. “Don’t you see? It happened, but not to me! The ordeal changed you, changed me. Except I don't remember it. I remain unchanged. I’ve been… unmade.”

He blinked as her words hit home, sinking into his heart with a cold dread.

“Listening to you tell the council of my heroic accomplishments, I didn’t recognize myself. This paragon, this woman of unflinching bravery.” Her voice wavered. “I felt...jealous. I am jealous of her. I can see why you fell in love with your other Tamina. The better Tamina.”

Dastan shook his head in mute denial, but she went on with ruthless persistence.

“Do you think of her? Compare me to her?”

She desperately hoped he could convince her she was wrong but the guilty look on his face told her the truth.

“You tease and provoke me to catch glimpses of her, don’t you? The day we waited for your father to arrive, do you remember what you said after goading me into losing my temper?”

Tamina twisted the knife. “You said, ‘And there she is.’ ”

Dastan winced.

“I'm not your Tamina and I never will be. She’s gone, Dastan.”

Her eyes burned. Struggling to maintain control, she breathed slowly, in and out. Fighting the anguish that threatened to choke her.

“I’m a pale imitation,” she said, voice laced with scorn. Not for him, but for herself. “A girl you want to love. A girl you'll settle for.”

At this maddeningly ludicrous statement, Dastan managed to shake himself out of paralyzing shock.

“No, listen to me,” he protested, gripping her arm.

Tamina twisted away, shrinking from the pain she was causing him, causing them both.

“It is a cruel, unjust tragedy that you couldn’t save her too,” Tamina said with sincere compassion. “You should leave Alamut. Go. Mourn her in peace.”

A tremor sliced through her facade of composure. She stared out at the full moon, now bright enough to outshine the stars, unable to look at him any longer.

He’d never felt so infuriated or so helpless. “No! Listen to me!” he repeated, practically shouting. “You’re wrong!

He grasped her chin roughly, tilting her face up to his, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“You have no right to dictate how I feel! I-” he bit off, releasing her as if she’d burnt him. _ As if bellowing a declaration of love at the top my voice will make her believe it! _

Dastan stared at her standing before him so rigid and still. Her walls keeping him at bay. Unassailable.

_ She’s right, _ he admitted to himself, shaken to the core. He couldn’t deny her accusations were valid. _ She’s slipping away. Again. For good this time if I can't overcome her doubts. _

Dastan slapped his palm down on the stone balustrade so hard it made her recoil. He’d reached his breaking point but didn’t want her to see it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he snarled, more a threat than a promise, and stormed back inside.


	13. Uncomfortable Truths

Dastan stalked around his chambers, glumly noticing his rooms had been picked up in his absence. The shutters open to the cool night air, the bed remade. Leaving no trace of her. Almost. He reached out to the handle of the bedroom door, absently fingering the leather strap of his wrist guard. Remembering her last, sweet kiss that spoke of love without words.

He rubbed a hand over his face. _ Yes, I longed for ‘my’ Tamina, _ he guiltily admitted to himself. _ Wanted her fire and strength, the way she always challenged me to be a better man. A man worthy of her. _

She’d been painfully honest. She felt divorced, alienated from her other self. Tamina hadn’t blamed him but the hard truth ate at his conscience. _ There’s no excuse for destroying her faith in me. _Broken their new and fragile bond. He’d hurt her by thoughtlessly assuming she was the same as the other version of herself. Making careless promises out of blind stupidity. He never said he loved her, yet it was there in every look, every smile, every caress. She’d recognized it for what it was. An unspoken vow.

“Listen to your heart,” he murmured to himself.

The hard knot in the pit of his stomach uncoiled. Dastan felt the cold helplessness beginning to lift and he inhaled a deep thankful breath. Tamina was right. And she was also absolutely wrong. About him at least. His gut told him his feelings for her were real, not an echo of a lost love.

With a lucky spark of self-awareness, Dastan realized the Tamina from the other time was a shadow, a mere contour of the woman he’d come to know. The kind of woman who’d scornfully dismiss a passionate declaration of love. He’d have to convince her with rational argument, to find the words to prove it to her.

“But how, dammit!”

He tore the strap from the handle, throwing it into a corner of the room.

“I need a drink!” 

\---

Tamina made her way through the dim corridors of the palace, ignoring everyone she passed. _ I do not cry, I will not cry, _she repeated over and over, holding in her grief until she reached the privacy of her sanctuary. Refusing to think or feel until it was safe to let go.

Unrecognizable in her loose, hooded cloak, she passed as a ghost through the tiered palace gardens and orchards, downward to the city wall. Cracking open the nondescript door of a lonely tower, Tamina lit a torch before kneeling on the dusty floor to unlock a wooden trapdoor, revealing a steep stairway. She welcomed the chill, dark silence, descending step by step into the catacombs of the old city hidden deep under the streets of Alamut.

At the bottom, she followed a gloomy tunnel which was once the main thoroughfare, now blocked, sealed, and forgotten. When she entered the former guardpost, Tamina threw the torch into the firepit that filled the center of the round chamber, watching it ignite the wood she’d laid ready at her last visit weeks ago. Before her life fell apart.

She’d come here to cry, to scream it out. Instead, Tamina sat staring blankly into the fire, frozen and drained. A bleak heaviness kept the ache locked inside her chest, suffocating her. How simple her life had been before his coming. Muted, colorless, even cold, but predictable and straightforward.

The knowledge of how alone she was crawled into her throat, burning with a desperation that frightened her, a chaotic inferno of emotion she never wanted to feel. _ When did I come to depend on him being mine, to need him like this? _ That very morning she’d been ready to take everything he’d promised her with an open heart. Tenderness, desire, understanding. To accept his love and return it unreservedly.

She wondered what it would have been like to meet him as strangers, embarking on a marriage untainted by Godly whims and cruel fate. Growing closer day by day, patiently and naturally. Against her will, Tamina imagined a little girl with his blue eyes looking up at her and flinched at the bittersweet stab of longing she felt.

Her tears began to flow. Hollow, hopeless, useless tears.

\---

Bis pushed through the crowd outside the tavern in the market square to find Dastan facedown in the dirt. He’d just gotten an urgent but cryptic message from Roham that their captain required his help, ending with the troubling postscript, ‘Don’t tell his brothers.’

Pinned to the ground but still struggling, he was held fast by three men: their comrade Roham, a city guardsman, and a giant of a man with blood flowing freely from his nose. Dastan’s nose was bloody too and he sported a swollen eye that would turn into an impressive shiner by the morning. He was clearly on a bender.

Bis almost laughed. The avid spectators made him think better of it though. A ticklish situation for the future Prince Consort of Alamut to be seen brawling in public. Bis groaned inwardly. _‘Don’t tell his brothers’ indeed!_

“Get off, whoresons!”

Dastan’s order was blatantly ignored and snarling in rage, he increased his efforts to dislodge the men restraining him, shouting a non-stop litany of abuse.

“Let him go, Roham,” Bis said, surprisingly mild given his friend’s uncharacteristic fury.

“Sorry sir, but the prince is- Oof!” He winced as Dastan freed an arm and elbowed him in the ribs. “Prince Dastan refuses to call it a night. He’s been taking on anyone who’d have a go until everybody saw he has a skin full. Then he got belligerent.”

Roham grunted with effort as he twisted Dastan’s arm into a more secure hold.

“Fuck you, Roham!” Dastan growled, grimacing in pain. “Is that all you've got?”

“He told me flat out he intended to drink himself into a stupor or get knocked out cold, whichever came first,” Roham explained with an amused twinkle in his eye.

“What’s he been drinking?” Bis frowned, slightly worried now. Dastan was usually a cheerful drunk. Idiotic and boisterous. Basically harmless.

“Fermented goat’s milk, the vilest slop I've ever tasted!” Roham spat in disgust.

The tavernkeeper shrugged. “Your prince said wine was too good for him and ale would take too long!” he said, provoking a round of hearty chuckles from the onlookers.

“Got to be a woman!” a man at the back bellowed, followed by a loud chorus of agreement.

“Yeah, the princess is a real ballbreaker,” nodded the tavernkeeper sagely.

“Been more than one man she’s sent away with their tail between their legs,” added the guardsman sitting on Dastan’s back.

Bis gawked at the Alamutians, shocked that Princess Tamina’s subjects dared speak of her with such disrespect. Except they all had smiles on their faces. Proud smiles.

“Fuck,” grumbled Dastan and went limp.

Bis squatted down to look him in his good eye. “Come on, Highness. Fun’s over.”

Roham and Bis pulled the now cooperative but sullen Dastan to his feet, just catching him as he almost toppled sideways into a pile of baskets. With a mute gesture, Bis directed the guardsman to lead the way. Bis dragged Dastan’s arm over his shoulder and the four of them began the long walk to the palace.

Bis glanced back at the tavernkeeper and the giant who was wiping blood off his chin with a grin. “Did he do much damage? Still owe you any coin?”

“No, sir,” the stout man answered jovially. “The prince paid upfront and handsomely!”

“Aw, poor lad. Best of luck to you!” the giant called after them.

This inspired many more hails of encouragement and jocular advice. Dastan threw the crowd a feeble wave as they staggered out of sight up the street.

\---

Dastan squinted his good eye open early the next morning, rudely awoken before he was ready by Roham’s jarring snores. _ Or maybe just my own throbbing head, _ he thought sourly, wincing at the pain stabbing through his skull. For some reason, he was laying on the floor.

Dastan covered his face with a forearm and let out a heartfelt groan of disgust. He blindly groped for something to throw at Bis sleeping slouched in a chair nearby, who grunted a quiet oath when the pillow hit him. He stood to stretch before flinging it back in Dastan’s general direction.

“Hey! Rotham!” Bis shouted, making Dastan wince. “Go scrounge us up some food!”

They heard a heavy snort from the sitting room as he woke with a start, grumbled curses, and the door slamming behind him.

Dastan sat up stiffly, dropping his head in his hands, wishing he didn't remember what he'd done. Then he remembered why he'd done it and groaned again. Bis surveyed the sorry state of his prince, commander, and friend, deciding to take the bull by the horns.

“I heard you were getting along better with Princess Tamina. At least your brother had that impression. Every other day you're a wreck because of her. If she's such a difficult woman- ”

“No! It isn’t her fault.” Dastan sighed. “She has the right to feel wronged after what we've done. What I’ve done.”

Bis tried for a casual tone. “Then she found out about…?”

“About what?”

“I, um.” Bis shifted uneasily. “When I visited a few days ago, I realized I wouldn’t be welcome and beat a hasty retreat.”

Mumbling under his breath, Dastan averted his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re not usually so tactless. I thought you liked the princess? If it's this other girl who’s got you tied up in knots...,” Bis began reprovingly.

Dastan gave him a pointed look, half defensive, half defiant.

“Oh!” Bis gaped in astonishment. “I can't understand how you got in so deep so fast. Don’t say it was love at first sight,” he scoffed. “Or destiny!”

“Good guess,” muttered Dastan glumly.

Skeptical, Bis shook his head in amusement. “At least you’re enjoying yourself ‘in the service of Venus.’ ” He grinned wickedly. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Bis...” Dastan protested weakly.

“I heard her laugh,” Bis went on impudently. “Not _ at _ you, I hope.”

Dastan closed his eyes, thinking of her husky laugh. Laughing at him and with him. Laughing in joyful pleasure. His ‘other’ Tamina never laughed. And never cried. Except at the end. With a jolt, he stared blankly at Bis for a long moment, the truth slowly taking shape, then abruptly converging into certainty.

Surging to his feet, he cuffed Bis on the shoulder. “You're helpful now and then,” he said on his way out the door.

\---

He searched for her everywhere. Bothering the servants cleaning Tamina’s chambers and unintentionally interrupting a ceremony in the High Temple, before he finally went to Speaker Ikram as a last resort. By that time, Dastan’s patience was hanging by a thread.

“Where is she?” he demanded tersely.

Ikram gave him an appraising look, carefully rolling up the scroll he’d been reading.

“I believe Princess Tamina has retired to her sanctuary. She often seeks solitude when her mind is troubled. She, ah, seemed upset last evening,” he probed delicately.

Dastan grimaced, avoiding Ikrams perceptive gaze. The older man studied Dastan, taking in his disheveled appearance and dejected expression. Then he straightened in his chair, coming to a decision.

“It’s a place of safety for the royal family in the underground catacombs. Not that I would betray the location, but only the Princess knows where the refuge is. Apparently nowhere near the Sandglass chamber though or it would have been buried as well,” he mused. “The old city holds many secrets, I daresay.”

Dastan considered the venerable man warily, noticing the friendly crinkle of his eyes, and sensed he might be willing to engage in a frank conversation.

“I was surprised to see you among the priesthood.”

Ikram smiled at Dastan’s careful avoidance of naming them as ‘the Guardians.’ He was coming to realize the young prince was astute as well as trustworthy.

“My inclusion in their ranks is a courtesy to ensure the right hand of governance is aware of what the left hand is doing. Therefore, Lady Ravan and Captain Asoka also advise the Ruling council which I oversee.”

Dastan nodded absently. He thought this might be a perfect opportunity to find out about Tamina’s childhood. He was convinced her past was the key to understanding her.

“Can you tell me what Medhi did to her?” he ventured cautiously.

Ikram hummed to himself, gathering his thoughts.

“Medhi attacked her father, the Regent, in his chambers. Princess Tamina heard the struggle and intervened. Sadly he was mortally wounded and died the next day. Medhi was killed during the fight but she’s never spoken of it. Whether she had to… ” Ikram’s voice faded at the dreadful implication.

Dastan swallowed thickly, imagining it. _She must have been so scared._ “How old was she?” he asked, horrified.

“Sixteen.”

The two men sat in silence until Ikram cleared his throat bracingly.

“Those are the bare facts. Of his motivation, I can only guess. The princess was beginning to attract interest, both for her position and her beauty. Medhi couldn’t accept her as a capable ruler in her own right. He believed she’d inevitably be led by her husband. He openly said as much. Utter nonsense, of course. I think Medhi schemed to seize power by taking control of her and the first step was getting her father out of the way.”

“And her mother?”

“A rockslide near the Guardian Temple,” Ikram said grimly. “Thankfully, Princess Tamina didn't accompany the Queen as was planned because she’d taken a nasty fall from her horse the day before.”

“A tragic accident and a very fortunate one,” Dastan muttered. “Except nothing happens here by chance, does it?”

“Just so.”

Ikram peered out the window in pensive contemplation.

“Even as a child, I saw her inner strength and I supported her wholeheartedly when most of the others didn’t. Especially Medhi, who as her Second, should have been her staunchest defender. My faith in Princess Tamina as our monarch was not misplaced. However, she isolates herself, maintaining a rigid distance from those who also care about her as a person.”

He turned his attention back to Dastan, eyes grave and penetrating, making certain he understood.

“It’s destroying her, little by little. She endures but doesn’t live. Forgive my familiarity, but I believe you’ll be good for her. If she…” Ikram left the thought hanging.

_If I can regain her trust. If she’ll accept me as her ally and partner. If she loves me._

“Yes,” Dastan agreed. “If.”

Ikram nodded and adopted the air of a respectful subordinate again.

“As you may know, Highness, the treaty between your great empire and Alamut is to be signed this evening, followed by a banquet. Princess Tamina will be pleased to see you there, I’m sure,” he said with crisp formality.

“Thank you, Speaker. I look forward to it.” Dastan smiled wryly and took his leave.

\---

Dastan sauntered in half-way through the treaty ceremony. His brothers barely acknowledged him, a raised eyebrow from Garsiv and a disapproving frown from Tus. Tamina had her back to him, leaning over a white marble table to sign the two documents, one for Persia and one for Alamut.

As her quill lifted from the parchment, Dastan said with unnecessary force, “Sorry I’m late.”

Tamina started and rounded on him, narrowed eyes taking him in with one sweeping glance. Black eye and bruised jaw, wearing the vibrant blue shirt she’d chosen for him. Dastan watched her expression become set but wary.

_ Good_, he thought with grim satisfaction.

Everyone in the room observed their silent exchange, looking from one to the other. Ikram was amused while the rest of the witnesses were puzzled and rather unnerved. Tus and Garsiv recognized their brother’s stoic calm. He had his battle face on. Serious, determined, and above all, confident. Tamina glared at him, a hard glint in the depths of her eyes. Cold steel.

Now was the moment. _I'll make her say it to my face._ If she dismissed him publicly, demanding his departure in front of his brothers, in front of everyone, Tus would have to grant her request. Dastan stood before her, arms crossed and outwardly relaxed but tension clawed at his nerves.

Confronted by his arrogant self-possession, he saw a flash of uncertainty break through her composure. She pressed her lips together in a thin line, turning to the assembled onlookers instead.

“Honored guests,” Tamina said, addressing the many Persian officers and officials gathered around her. “I thank you for attending this auspicious occasion, the beginning of a beneficial alliance between the vast Persian Empire and Alamut. Although we appreciate your guarantee of protection, I affirm Persia has much to gain from this partnership as well. Let us celebrate now as equals, as friends.”

Tus bowed low, endorsing her judicious words, and offered his arm. As they passed by him into the banqueting hall, Dastan gave her his most carelessly charming smile. But inwardly, he sagged with relief, feeling like he’d just dodged a fatal blow.

_ Maybe only a stay of execution, _ he warned himself, _ but I’ll take it. _


	14. Affirmation

The guests, Persians and Alamutians, ate and drank, mixing easily. Deep male laughter and lively conversation drown out the lilting melody performed by the court musicians who played unobtrusively in the background.

As was customary, Tamina sat apart, elevated on a dais. A fitting pedestal, but she knew it was yet another kind of estrangement. Making her an honored outsider in her own court, an observer. She watched her people and his talking, sharing a joke, or engaging in friendly banter. Ravan obviously provoking Prince Garsiv, judging by her flashing eyes and his scowl. Ikram and Prince Tus with their heads together in a serious discussion. Asoka and Dastan with a group of soldiers surrounding them.

The banqueting hall glowed with the amber radiance of torchlight, punctuated by bright flashes of color. Goblets of gold, the dark red of Persian uniforms, and the soft pink of flower petals scattered across the marble floor. The lime green of the platters bearing the sumptuous feast carried out from the kitchens in a steady stream. And the startling, vivid blue of Dastan’s shirt.

His amused voice rose above the tumult, holding her unwilling attention. Hearing his easy laughter, she was unnerved by his good humor, his eyes clear and untroubled. _He’d been furious! And now, nothing? _

It had taken her the entire night wallowing in self-pity and most of that day in meditation to restore any semblance of equanimity but she could already feel it deserting her. Tamina picked morosely at the delicious food on her plate, her attention continually drawn to the flash of lapis blue that teased the corner of her eye.

_ Accursed shirt, _ she grumbled to herself, glaring at him across the crowded hall. _ A cleverly strategic ploy. Which is working, damn him! But to what end? _Her eyes fixed on the familiar curve of his half-smile. Never quite a smirk because of his playful, boyish sincerity. The smile she liked most of all. She tore her gaze away, stabbing relentlessly at a thick slice of pickled aubergine.

“I think it’s dead,” Bis said.

Tamina jumped and glowered down at him. Mortified that a stranger, and a Persian by the looks of him, had caught her in a mild tantrum. It took her a few seconds longer than usual to put her aloof mask back on.

He cleared his throat, recognizing the wisdom of starting over, and gave her a gallant bow.

“Highness, my name is Bis. May I join you for a few moments?”

She considered his fine clothing and courtly manner, but sensed an interesting undercurrent of audacity. Very much like Dastan in fact.

“ ‘It’ is an aubergine. A plant,” she said dryly.

“What? That? I’ve never seen one before. Unusual color. Can I taste it?”

She indicated the audience chair, but he sat himself down at her feet instead, casually taking the pickle off her plate and popped it into his mouth. Intrigued in spite of herself, Tamina watched him chew gingerly, then smile in appreciation.

“I do not wish to be rude. But you are...?”

“Ah! Perhaps your real question is ‘What am I.’ ” He gave her an assessing glance. “I sit at the high table, but am unseen,” he said with a mysterious wave of the hand.

With a beautifully arched brow, she joined in the game he was playing with her. “You are a spirit? Or more likely, a figment of my imagination?”

Bis gave her a wide, mischievous smile.

“Perhaps I should say, a nobody who is someone,” he teased, chuckling at her impatient snort.

Tamina rolled her eyes and he held up a palm in surrender.

“I’m Prince Dastan’s second in command and his friend. Unlike the other army corps, his company carries no official titles, so I have none to offer you. If a rank is required to get outsiders to listen to my orders, I’ll tell them I’m a Captain.

“You’re a personal friend of the prince?” she asked in surprise, wondering if he'd been the one Dastan lost, the friend who'd helped them escape.

“Most of his men consider him a friend and several grew up with us in the slums. But he sort of lived with my family until King Sharaman found him, and we’re still thick as thieves.”

“How did the king find him?”

“You don’t know the story?” Bis laughed. “No, of course not. Because he never acknowledges his princely qualities voluntarily. Which between you and me is unexpectedly modest of him, don’t you think?” He sighed dramatically. “So I must.”

Bis had a gift for thrilling, sensational, and emotive storytelling. Tamina could imagine it, uttering a hiss of outrage on the boy's behalf when he described how they were set upon by the king’s guard. See the heart-stopping chase across the rooftops of Nasaf in her mind’s eye. Heard his admiration for the friend who protected him.

What had the king seen in Dastan that day? Bold intelligence and selfless courage. Perhaps the Gods had nudged Sharaman to do their bidding, but he deserved to be noticed. Even as a boy, he was worthy of his destiny.

“Life at the palace was good for him, but suffocating,” Bis concluded. “He escaped now and then, or they let him escape, to roam the city and blow off steam with his old friends. When he was older, he worked us into his new life one way or another.”

“You were once equals,” she commented in a neutral tone. Leaving the implied ‘doesn’t it bother you?’ unsaid.

“Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s always possessed unusual integrity, an innate nobility. The king chose wisely. He carries the responsibility reasonably well, better than a lot of those pompous asses. As I said, I sit at the high table with him. But I enjoy a freedom he’ll never have again.”

Tamina felt Dastan watching her and couldn’t ignore him any longer. With an effort, she met his gaze with superb indifference. He leant nonchalantly against a pillar, but his expression was grim, tension carved in the set of his shoulders. And his eyes gleamed with unyielding determination, his black eye conjuring the daunting image of facing him across a battlefield. She shivered. But not with fear.

She realized several things at once. He was not giving up. And instead of feeling wretched anxiety over the impending confrontation, Tamina felt a tiny flicker of hope. Her carefully blank facade softened imperceptibly and Dastan straightened abruptly to come to her.

At Dastan’s approach, Bis paused in pouring himself another cup of wine and immediately got up to make way for him.

“I mustn't outstay my welcome. Thank you, Princess, for such an agreeable conversation,” he said hastily.

“And to you,” Tamina returned vaguely, her eyes still fixed on the man striding toward her with almost predatory confidence. She shivered again.

As he left, Bis exchanged a meaningful look with Dastan which made them both grin briefly. Tamina suspected she'd just undergone some kind of evaluation. She wondered if she’d managed to earn his approval, surprised that she cared.

“What happened to your pretty face?” she asked rather aggressively, fighting against her fraying nerves.

Dastan eyebrows rose mockingly as he held out a hand. Tamina frowned at him for a moment until he waggled his fingers impatiently and jerked his head toward the door, urging her to go with him. She scanned the animated crowd. Everyone seemed fully occupied with their dinner companions and probably wouldn’t miss them.

She stood gracefully, avoiding his outstretched hand because she wanted to take it so badly. The way he offered it to her always felt deeply symbolic somehow, just like the first time. And perhaps he meant it to. With a disappointed shrug, he followed her out.

Walking in heavy silence to her chambers, he suddenly said, “Seeking oblivion in demon drink.”

“What?”

“You asked about my disreputable appearance. I got drunk and kicked up a row.”

“I wish I’d thought of that. Not the brawling, obviously,” she said dryly. “I've never been inebriated to such a degree, although I admit I’d like to. Wouldn’t be seemly, alas.”

“No, it wasn't. But your people were more sympathetic than outraged. They weren't surprised you’d brought me so low. And every last one of them admires you for it,” he said with a crooked smile.

Dastan followed her into the sitting room and closed the door, giving her a curious sideways glance. “You didn’t order me to leave. Or make Tus do it.”

“No. I… no,” she said, sitting in a chair so he couldn’t get too close. “You would disobey even your brother, I think.”

“I would have, yes.”

He paced in front of her, gathering his thoughts, just as he had before. Tamina waited, rigid with unbearable tension but this time she was eager to hear what he had to say.

“I am, unfortunately, much less self-aware than you but I took what you said to heart and thought about it seriously,” he began earnestly. “Let me tell you what I discovered.”

“You are right, of course,” he said, looking down at her with his arms crossed. “And in the first few days, I knew you were a different woman. I had to choose my words so carefully!” He let out a hollow laugh.

“It's true, I missed her. And, yes, I provoked you to draw out the fiery warrior I admired and loved. I needed her, you see. Thinking of her reassured me. Helped me withstand your indifference, your distrust.”

Tamina made a small noise of distress, but Dastan smiled sadly, shaking his head.

“As we grew closer everything changed and I don’t even know when.” He frowned, considering. “No, I do. When I told you, when I didn’t have to lie anymore, the line between the two of you, in the way I thought about you, blurred. And I didn't question it. I was so relieved and hopeful, I suppose, when you began to accept me.”

He reached out a hand to brush her cheek.

“I’m truly sorry for that, not taking your feelings into account, not appreciating the consequences.”

He knelt down before her, taking her hands in his.

“What you need to understand is that you are not a pale imitation of her. She was a pale imitation of you.”

Tamina gasped, eyes widening in shock.

“In the lost time, you were The Guardian, the Gods' champion. Burning with purpose to protect the dagger. To keep the promise you made to the Gods and to your people.”

He took her face in his hands, thumbs gliding over her high cheekbones.

“She was not complete. Not the queen who worries over the needs of her subjects. Not the empathetic girl who came to console me even when you were suffering just as much yourself. Not the woman who tells me her fears or shatters so beautifully in my arms. I could go on and on Tamina.”

His gentle, mournful eyes pleaded with her, begging her to believe him.

“She _ was _ you, I know it even if you don’t. But you....” He sighed, smiling his soft, tender smile. “You are _ more_. Much more.”

She stared at him, unblinking, unmoved. Her silence felt like death. Dastan’s smile faded, the shadow of pain dimming his eyes. He rose stiffly to his feet, running a hand over his face.

“I won’t leave Alamut until the Hassansins are dealt with, but I’ll trouble you no longer. I can’t...I can’t force you to believe me. It’s a matter of faith, isn’t it,” he said in a broken voice, turning to go.

Trembling uncontrollably, Tamina clutched at his wrist to stop him and threw herself in his arms, collapsing against his chest. She took a shaky breath that he felt, rather than heard, making a noise in the back of her throat that sounded dangerously close to a sob.

He pulled away, holding her at arm's length. Bending level to look her full in the face, his eyes boring into hers, hard and fierce.

“I love you,” he declared softly, as a vow. “That is a promise I am absolutely certain I will keep until my dying breath.”

Tamina looked at him, eyes luminous with wonder, and felt something in her loosen. A great weight eased from her heart, allowing her to breathe freely again.

Desperately they clung to each other, craving the closeness they’d found before. Sweeping her up with an exuberant laugh, Dastan carried her to bed. He kissed her, slow and deep, murmuring his love into her skin, into her heart, into her soul.

In time, when the moon sank below the mountains and the stars burned bright, Dastan drifted into sleep. But Tamina lay awake listening to his soft breathing, twisting her silver ring around and around. As the sun rose, she took her father's puzzle ring off her finger, the memory of his words coming back to her.

_ ‘You are more than the roles you were born to fulfill Tamina. More than your duty. They are pieces of you but not the whole. Try to remember, my beautiful girl.’ _

She studied him in the early morning light, her eyes drawn to the enticing mole on his upper lip, the faint lines etched in the corners of his eyes from the desert sun or more probably, laughter. His thick, heavy brows, so expressive and distinctive. She saw a peace within him, a certainty. That he knew exactly who he was and what he wanted. And she, who had always been so sure of her place in the world, was floundering in self-doubt.

She had feared losing herself in him, but the truth was both ludicrous and tragic. Because she realized she didn’t know who she was at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your continued interest in my story, I appreciate it very much :)  
Unfortunately I won't be able to make a firm promise for when the next chapter will be posted because we have a family situation which could be serious. Writing does help me deal with stress, so there's that...  
Take good care of yourselves and each other <3


	15. Turn, Turn, Turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience and best wishes:) I'm glad to be back!

Dastan didn’t notice at first. Although in hindsight, her strange mood that morning was a warning he should have heeded. But utter contentment pushed any vague disquiet aside before it made any real impression. Back in her arms when he’d almost lost her.

The reassuring reality of waking up next to her. Their heads just touching, sharing the same pillow, her lush curves pressed against him. His mind and heart full of her, he opened his eyes to find Tamina gazing at him with sharp intensity.

“Morning, love,” he said, nosing her temple.

She ran her fingertips over his brows, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Delicately probing his black eye, tracing the edges of the mottled discoloration over his cheekbone. Drawing a finger down his slashing dimple to his mouth. Brushing the mole above his lip with her thumb. Each touch purposeful and precise. Dastan felt time slow to a halt as he fell into the dark warmth of her eyes.

“I love you,” he murmured in a soft exhalation of breath, afraid to break the spell but unable to keep his happiness in check. The sudden rush of emotion made him lightheaded.

Tamina ducked her head, burrowing into him. Arms and legs, every inch of her clinging to him, twining herself around him. Binding him to her as if to make him a part of her. He reveled in the heady feeling of being claimed. Being chosen.

Yet her urgency, her air of desperation gave him pause. Dastan stroked her back, gentle and soothing, sensing her tension ease with a muffled sigh hot on his skin. He kissed her incense-scented hair, wishing he could see her face.

“No more doubts?”

Head tucked under his chin, she gave him another fierce hug.

“Not about you,” she mumbled into his shoulder, so low he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.

“Wha-?” he started to ask. But other voices interrupted him, the servants coming through the outer door to attend to her morning needs.

He surged out of bed, hurriedly searching for his clothes.

“You don’t have to go,” she said, pulling the bedsheet up to her chin, shivering in the early morning chill.

Dastan glanced up from fastening his trousers. “Dealing with palace gossip is a pain in the ass.”

Tamina shrugged, accepting his wish to preserve their privacy. But when he threw his leg over the wide window ledge she got up in alarm, stunningly naked, rushing over to grip his arm.

“Wait! What do you think you’re doing?”

His eyes raked over her. Aware of a pleasant, but inconvenient, throb in his pants.

“Getting out before your ladies see me,” he said, distracted by the way her breasts brushed against his chest.

She swatted his arm with the back of her hand to draw his attention to her ire.

“It's too risky!"

“No, it's not. My rooms are right below yours. And a little to the left,” he added with a lopsided grin.

She glared at his careless half-smile. “Reckless idiocy!” she snapped, that fiery temper of hers escaping her control to scald him.

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Is that concern I hear?” he teased, curious what her retort would be this time around.

“Yes, of course it is!” she said at once.

Dastan visibly melted. He pulled her in by the waist, taking the opportunity to nuzzle her neck and palm her luscious bottom, a bit cool to his touch. Tamina hummed appreciatively, snuggling closer to bask in his heat.

“Is there another way out?” he asked, ready to humor her.

But before she could answer, they heard a quiet knock at the bedroom door. He slipped his other leg over the side.

“Just a moment Lida!” she called, tightening her arms to keep him there.

“Don’t worry love, I’ve come this way once or twice already.” At her confused look, he explained, “After the nightmares. I needed to see you.”

She rested her forehead on his shoulder for a second, then gave him a glower that clearly said ‘If you must, but you’re insane’ and let go.

He grinned and casually slid from the window into thin air, dropping like a stone. Tamina screeched, leaning out precariously to find him hanging ten feet down, one-handed, from a metal rain spout. Swinging free, he gave her a wink and flipped with agile grace to land on a balcony ten feet lower. And a little to the left.

He laughed at her expression, mingled admiration and chagrin, pleased with himself for pulling it off so well. Waving a last cheeky salute, he sauntered into his chambers.

Unfortunately, his good mood evaporated when he found his brothers lounging in the sitting room, eating his breakfast. They gaped at him for all of two seconds before reaching the right conclusion.

“Tell me you’re not bedding her!” Tus blustered.

Dastan crossed his arms defensively. “What are you doing here?” he grumbled, eying Garsiv’s wrinkled, wine-stained tunic.

“Were too drunk after the banquet so decided to stay with you,” Garsiv said around a mouthful of dates. He looked delighted. Malicious, but delighted. “Imagine our surprise not to find you here. All night.”

“Why would she take such a risk and why would you put her in such a position?” Tus scolded, hitting his stride as the disappointed older brother.

He’d hoped to avoid this conversation. Tus’ shock and disapproval made him feel like an irredeemable swine. Mentally squirming, he tried to come up with an acceptable excuse, but there weren’t any.

“It’s complicated,” Dastan muttered, playing for time.

Tus’ eyes narrowed, opening his mouth to demand an explanation or embark on a heated lecture.

Bracing himself to give them the truth, he admitted curtly, “I hope for a genuine marriage, not a cold-blooded diplomatic alliance. Princess Tamina isn’t convinced yet, but she...enjoys my company. She can do as she pleases in her own kingdom.”

He inwardly flinched at how that sounded.

“You could say I’m helping her make an informed decision,” he added weakly. “You know… the benefits of matrimony.”

Which sounded worse. He attempted to hide his wince behind a shamefaced grimace.

“And since she’s willing, you ignore every trace of honor you possess?” Tus huffed a resigned sigh. “You’re in love with her, of course.”

“Are you telling us the one-wife clause was your idea, not hers?” Garsiv interjected.

“To stop you foisting some poor, unwanted girl on us for political expediency,” Dastan said with a hard edge to his voice.

“How devious of you,” Tus said, rather impressed.

“Just because I don’t plot against you doesn't mean I don’t know how,” he returned darkly.

Garsiv snorted a grudging laugh, but Tus looked concerned, gripping his shoulder with earnest strength.

“You’re playing with fire, giving your heart so freely. You surely can’t yet discern what kind of woman she is behind her royal mask. An impenetrable facade not unlike Uncle’s,” Tus said gravely. “Honestly, I envy her self-possession, but we’ve learned how dangerous such people can be.”

“Exactly! Of all the women who’ve thrown themselves at you, you're certain she’s the one you want? In… what’s it been, a week since you met her?” scoffed Garsiv.

“Nine days and eight nights,” Dastan mumbled under his breath. _ Give or take a month. _

“And if she’s so enamored with your worthless hide, why not sign the contract?” Garsiv carried on, his voice rising in anger with every word. “She’s toying with you!”

“Enough, Garsiv! It’s none of your concern.”

Dastan stared them down. For the first time, his brothers saw a resolute determination in him they’d never seen before. A man of iron will. Implacable, almost ruthless. Their genial, carefree little brother nowhere to be found.

“So what if I take a chance with my heart? To fight for what I want for once in my life?” _Making_ _my own destiny,_ he reminded himself bracingly. _To know I did everything I could. _His grim demeanor relaxed into a tentative smile. “That’s an honorable endeavor, isn’t it?”

They considered him glumly but said no more, recognizing it was useless to argue. Even Garsiv could see he was too far gone, shaking his head at the insane folly of falling in love. Losing whatever modicum of good judgment and self-preservation he possessed.

Glad they seemed willing to let it go, Dastan joined them in their meal, spreading a large piece of flatbread with a spicy chickpea paste.

After a thoughtful moment, Tus ventured, “You’ve been fighting for what you want as long as I’ve known you. But perhaps you never felt that way. We know it wasn’t easy when Father brought you home.”

Garsiv snorted a grunt of agreement before Tus went on, “I saw you trying hard to please us, to not disappoint us. Except it was never necessary to earn our love and keep it with good behavior. I'm just afraid you're making the same mistake with her.”

Dastan cleared his throat, thick with an embarrassing flood of affection.

“We were relieved when you gave up and turned back into a cheeky little shit,” Garsiv said with a smirk, clearing the air before they became dangerously sentimental.

Laughing, he punched Garsiv in the arm. But he appreciated their concern, even if they were overprotective.

“You needn’t worry about me. Truly. I know what I’m doing, all right?”

Tus nodded, Garsiv shrugged, and they ate in companionable silence.

“We can’t ignore Kosh much longer,” Garsiv said out of nowhere.

“There’s a more urgent problem,” Dastan said. “The princess informed me one of her people, a former priest, is known to be with the Hassansin’s. The man carries a personal grudge against Tamina herself. We need to deal with them.”

The half-truths stuck in his throat, but he swallowed it down, expression impassive. Hoping his brothers wouldn't ask for details he didn’t have. Or rather, couldn't share. It was horrible, how easy it was to lie to them. _ But the ends justify the means. She taught me that. I belong to Alamut until she says otherwise. _His palm itched and Dastan scratched at it unconsciously, as if he already carried the Guardian mark.

Tus swirled the watered wine in his goblet, lost in thought. “That’s very troubling. I agree we must take action.” He glanced at Garsiv. “I’ll return to Nasaf to dig into the extent of Uncle’s treason while you and General Dabiri go retake our outposts. That’ll distract Kosh until we can give our full attention to a siege.”

“Use Uncle’s company as the core detachment, augmented by my cavalry and a few of the others. It may not be fair, but I distrust his men. If I have my way, they will serve the empire from our borderlands from now on,” Garsiv said darkly.

“Yes, Brother. Wise counsel.” Tus sighed heavily. “We’ll be on our way soon, it seems. At least I can check on Father while I’m there.” He gave Dastan a teasing grin. “And we’ll leave you here in her soft, capable hands, shall we?”

Dastan's imagination lurched to the middle of the night when she’d brought him to a breathtaking climax, sheathed in her delicate, confident grip. He tried not to flush but doubted his success judging by Garsiv’s sharp bark of laughter.

\---

After breakfast, they spent the oppressively hot day at camp, setting their plans into motion. Directing the minutia of army life became a never-ending grind when he just wanted to get back to her, eager for the coming night. Brushing off Garsiv’s taunts, Dastan finally got away long after dark, throwing him a rude gesture as he left.

He went to his rooms to wash off the day’s sweat and grime before seeking her out, but found Tamina waiting for him, sitting in a shadowed corner. Staring down at her hands resting in her lap, twisting her silver ring around and around.

“Ugh, what a day!” he called. “But everything’s ready, they’ll leave tomorrow.”

She glanced up, her expression tight and guarded, giving him a dim smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Dastan froze at her haunted look. Puzzled and unsettled, he searched for something, anything, to cheer her, blurting the first crazy thing that popped into his head.

“In the badlands near Avrat, we ran out of food, so today I made you eat a snake.”

Tamina’s finely arched brows rose so high, they disappeared behind her fringe of hair that lay in a perfect sweep across her forehead. Grinning, Dastan sauntered over, gratified by her reaction.

Her lips quirked, a dazzling smile slowly unfurling to light up her face. All coherent thought momentarily deserted him until Tamina came to him for a hug.

“I meant to clean up before coming to you,” he said, holding her at arm's length.

Tamina smirked and walked into his arms. Pushing the open collar of his shirt aside, she licked a wide stripe up his chest, dipping her tongue into the hollow of his throat. Making sweetly muffled sounds against his skin as she tasted him.

Dastan shuddered as her passion hit him with the blinding shock of a lightning storm. Heart beating wildly, he groaned at the pulsing tension taking hold of his body. The urgent throb of his cock as it stiffened.

Her small, smooth hand snuck inside his gaping shirt to rove freely over his stomach, following the thin line of coarse hair downward. Peering up at him through her lashes with a sultry look, she bit down into the meat of his shoulder.

“Tamina!” He sucked in a gulp of air, muscles quaking under her touch.

Grabbing her wrist, he pushed her against the door, his body pressed against her, pinning her. He tilted her chin up for a kiss, dragging her mouth away from his flesh and her hand away from his pants. Grasping the nape of her neck, it was only then he noticed her braided hair.

Dastan stared into her eyes, heavy-lidded and dark with blatant, uninhibited lust. She looked thoroughly intoxicated. Drunk on him.

“This is what it’s like,” he murmured against her lips, rocking his hips slowly into hers. “Being so drunk you can't think straight. Body out of your control, your head swimming.”

His mouth roamed along her jaw, savoring her sweet, silky skin, as he roughly dragged the bodice of her gown down to free her breasts. Cupping them, he brushed her hard nipples, and smiled to feel her gasp as he kissed her neck.

“Is that how I make you feel, love?”

“Yes,” she whimpered.

Cradling her face in his hands, his eyes met hers with the weight of raw emotion.

“I burn where you touch me, can’t breathe when you kiss me,” he confessed, a slight tremor in his voice. “You make me shake with need. I’m desperate for you and I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

“Yes,” she said on a sharp intake of breath.

_ An admission or perhaps a declaration? _ He couldn’t tell. _ Tamina, do you love me? _Heart pounding in his chest, he longed to ask her but knew it was still too soon.

She pulled him close to take his mouth, and he felt her fingers slip under his leather belt, reaching for him. He groaned as her hand wrapped around him, squeezing. Finding a drop of shining liquid on the tip, she ran her thump in smooth circles over the thick head, making him jerk against her in a rush of pleasure.

Dastan impatiently tugged his pants down over his hips just enough to free himself and rucked up her gown to her waist, seeking her heat. He touched her, his fingertips edging up her slit, plump and wet, to circle her bud.

Tamina spread her legs wider, rubbing herself with his swollen head, spreading her arousal over his length. She had definitely paid attention to his demonstration. Pumping his shaft with short, vigorous strokes, she drove him to the brink with staggering ease.

But he wasn't ready yet. Cursing under his breath, he took back the initiative, sliding one, then two, fingers inside her, thrusting in and out of her slick heat. Pushing his fingers deep, he stretched her, filling her up. He ached to fill her with his cock. The way she fisted him in her tight, slippery grip made it easy to imagine.

Knuckles bumping and grinding against her mound, giving shocks of sweet delight, he circled at her nub with his thumb, eyes never leaving her face.

“Together,” Dastan urged.

They worked each other, breathing heavily in tandem, sharing a rhythm, learning to read each other’s body. Uttering quiet moans as they unraveled.

Hips surging upwards, meeting her firm strokes in counterpoint, he felt herself dissolving, caught in the wash of sensation. His entire body quaked, the feeling intense and uncontrollable. She ground down against his hand as she fell apart, crying out, before he followed her over the edge, spilling over her fingers with sublime bursts of euphoria.

They kissed until their heartbeats slowed, until they no longer panted to catch their breath. Kissed until it was only a lazy slide of mouths against one another. Dastan was the first to pull away with a deep sigh, finally shedding their clothes, and picked her up to collapse together in a satisfied heap in his bed.

Tamina tucked herself into his side with a contented hum.

“Did I like it?”

“I think so,” he chuckled, “moaning my name over and over implied that you did.”

“Conceited peacock,” she huffed. “I meant the snake.”

Dastan laughed. “I don’t know. You were too hungry to complain. You thanked me for the meal though. The first time you were polite enough to do so, I might add.”

He pulled her closer to rest in the hollow of his shoulder.

“You helped me kill it. Bravely chopping off its head while I held it steady.”

“Humph,” was her only reply.

Tamina raised her hand, idly smearing his spend between her fingers. She gave him a provocative smile and put one in her mouth, but promptly wrinkled her nose in distaste. Dastan gave her a knowing wink.

“Well, at least nobody can accuse you of lacking curiosity,” he said with definite mockery in his voice.

“Hmm, not very pleasant. To hear my attendants talking, I thought it would taste more agreeable.” Eying his apologetic grimace, she continued airily. “I suppose one could get used to it. According to Lady Ravan, it’s a great weakness for men, pleasuring them with your mouth.”

Deliberately, she ran three sticky fingertips over her tongue. Dastan’s eyes darkened. He wasn’t laughing at her now.

“Very salty, but there is a hint of you, a musky aftertaste that’s similar to your scent.”

“Tamina, please,” he practically whined.

“Have you tasted your own seed?”

Dastan covered his face with a pillow. “As a matter of fact, I have. In one of my lessons,” he mumbled.

“Lessons?”

Throwing the pillow aside, he waggled his brows at her. “My princely education was very thorough. I was taught how to keep my future wives happy and how to avoid inconvenient complications before marriage.”

She stared at him, open-mouthed.

“Yes, I couldn't believe it either. I think that particular lesson could be called ‘how to be a considerate lover.’ It’s unpleasant, so the only courteous thing to do is give fair warning.”

“Incredible!” She was quiet for a few moments then asked in a small voice. “So your, um, proficiency isn’t the result of numerous affairs of the heart?”

Dastan snorted. “No! Do you really want me to tell you about them? There haven’t been many. And no one I loved. Lust, infatuation, but never love.”

Tamina kissed his cheek sweetly and beamed at him, her expression so radiant it made him blink.

He fell asleep smiling.

\---

His brothers left Alamut the next morning, promising to return to witness the signing of their betrothal contract (“whenever that may be,” sneered Garsiv) or with the location of the Hassansins’ lair, whichever came first. They said goodbye to him with a mixture of commiseration and worry. Tamina was taken aback by the absence of the princes’ usual playful banter.

“Your brothers act as though they leave you to a fate worse than death,” she muttered as they watched them ride away.

“In the lion’s den, at least,” Dastan said impudently.

“Except I was caught in the Lion Of Persia's jaws this morning,” Tamina countered.

“Shall I show you the Lion of Persia's claws?” he growled, pouncing on her with relentless tickling fingers.

Hearing her shriek of laughter, they turned back to see Dastan murmuring something in Tamina’s ear, her hand over her mouth to hide an undignified giggle. For once they saw her without her mask, gazing up at him with clear affection in her eyes.

Slightly reassured, Tus and Garsiv passed through the palace gates. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're finally settling into a new normal (until everything changes again) and I hope you are all doing well!  
The next update will be on Oct. 2 ♥️


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